


Haunted

by evilleaper



Series: Dark Shadows over Time [4]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Masochism, Minor Character Death, POV First Person, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Recovered Memories, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 77,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilleaper/pseuds/evilleaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after Sam comes home he and Al find the past has finally caught up with them and the only way to survive the dark shadow it casts over their lives is to face it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Sam Beckett, Al Calavicci and all things Quantum Leap belong to Donald PBellisario and 'Universal' anything else eg; the words here in and the idea for this piece of fan fiction belong solely to me. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> WARNING: This story contains course language, graphic interactions between two men and deals with the subject of masochism. If this is not your cup of tea, then this story may not be for you.
> 
> AUTHORS NOTES: "Haunted" takes place after "Coming Home" and should be considered part four of "The Shadows over Time" series. You might also like to know that I use Australian spelling, with that in mind if you find a typo please feel free to point it out to me. Not new, just new to AO3.

_**Sam** _

_"Jesus Sam,_ how could you?" Al's voice and expression reflected his anger fully. Anger that had manifested without warning and for reasons I could not fathom. Without another word he pulled from my embrace and fled, pushing me out of his way in his effort to get away. 

Stunned to silence all I can do is watch, dumbfounded as Al disappears down the hallway of the house I had brought him to see. 

Seconds later and still frozen to the spot I hear the distinctive sounds of the front door of the house slam loudly, the resounding impact vibrating through the entire building and shaking the windows in their panes. I flinch at the sounds and as mobility returns to me I brace myself, shaken and confused against the door-frame. Taking a moment to calm myself I try to comprehend what I had done or could have said that would bring on such an outburst from Al. One moment, I pondered, we were discussing the many possibilities of having our own place away from the Project and its many residents, and the next he was behaving as if I had struck him. Truly I did not understand.

Pulling out of my bewildered state I force myself to move again, putting one foot in front of the other as I retrace Al's steps to the front door. Passing the rooms, we had stood in together and forcing myself not to look at them now.

This house had remained empty for months the realtors had told me and for a short time I had hoped Al and I could fill it and make it home; I had imagined a new life for us here, away from the not only the Project, but all its memories. 

Stepping outside into the glaring afternoon sun I use my hands to shield my eyes against its unforgiving haze, squinting as I survey the area around the house. Almost immediately I spy Al sitting in the jeep we had borrowed from the motor pool to drive here, relieved he hasn't just left me stranded. 

Replacing the house key in its original hiding place I check one last time to make certain that the house is secure before turning to join Al at the car. He has his head resting on the steering wheel I realise as I draw closer, his face hidden from me, but I can see his shoulders rising and falling in quick succession. Clearly he is upset. I still have no idea what has brought on his sudden outburst, but whatever it was, I was going to find out.

Approaching the jeep somewhat hesitantly I lean through the driver's side window to speak to him.

"What's going on, Al?" 

His head comes up at my question. Noticeably pale, Al's usually olive complexion is now almost grey and his entire face is covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, beads of which trickle down the sides of his face as he turns to look at me. 

So sudden is this transformation that I am momentarily taken back by Al's sickly appearance. His breathing is fast, coming out in quick puffs, and it's only a split second after I regain my own composure that I realise he is moments away from hyperventilating. I know the signs and I know that in this heat I had to move quickly. 

"Get out of the car, Al. Slowly now, you need to calm down," I instruct, opening the driver's side door and taking him gently by the shoulder. My intentions are to settle him in the small amount of shade by the car and then return him to the house, lost are my thoughts to press him for an explanation for why he is so obviously shaken. First things first, I tell myself. He looks terrible, much older than his years and in worse shape than I have even seen him. My heart is in my throat; somehow I know I have caused this. I don't know how and at this point I don't care. 

Al opens his mouth to say something to me as I manoeuvre him out of the car, but it's too late; he is retching even as I step back. I support Al as the first wave hits him, but only just escape being doused with the flood of vomit that erupts from him.

Once it's over I guide Al to sit on the ground while I retrieve the water flask I insist we carry whenever we leave the Project from the back seat of the jeep. 

Kneeling beside him I sock the clean handkerchief I have taken from Al’s slacks pocket with a liberal amount of the cool water from the flask. Then use it to wipe his face before offering him any to drink, watching him carefully as he sips gingerly from the bottle. He appears exhausted, weak from his ordeal. 

"Are you okay?" I ask wiping his brow again.

Al nods slowly, not quite meeting my eyes. I have settled during the time that it has taken to calm him and some of my earlier questions return. I am not sure what I have done to cause Al to react the way he has, but now it seems is not the time to ask him. Perhaps later when I have him safely back at the Project I may be able to broach the subject with him. 

"Can you walk?" I venture gently. 

"Yeah, just give me another minute or so. Okay," he answers. His voice is rougher than usual and I suspect his throat is raw and it is likely painful when he swallows or tries to talk. 

Al motions for me to give him back the water bottle I am holding and I return it to him, supporting his head as his drinks from it once more. His thirst quenched, he then attempts to rise without giving me warning he wishes to do so. 

"Hold on and I'll help you," I tell him, struggling to stand before helping him up also. 

For a moment we stand with him leaning against me, and me supporting both our combined weight against the side of the jeep. It's awkward. Al, despite his smaller stature is no lightweight. Quite plainly he has used all his energy in getting up and requires me to aid him further. I feel another twinge of guilt, wishing just to take him in my arms and soothe him a little while longer. It is difficult with Al, more difficult than I ever imagined our life together would be. He tries to be so strong all the time. He has a fierce sense of independence which I know he has gained from decades of necessity, but he doesn't allow for even me to take a moment of it from him. I had thought when I came home he would share some of the burden he had carried for so long alone with me, but it is not the case.

I resist the urge to hold him in the one position for too long, now we are moving I want to keep the momentum going. I have changed my mind about returning to the house, deciding he would resist the idea and most likely accuse me of over reacting, or babying him. If only he would let me, even a little. I settle for stroking Al's damp hair once and then guide him to the passenger side of the jeep and help him into his seat and to fasten his seat belt. 

Al tries to help me as much as he can with the exercise and sits quietly as I move into the driver’s seat and start the jeep for the trip back to the Project. We are only a little over twenty miles from home and I know we will be there soon, but I am worried about him, he would scold me if he knew but I worry about his health. Al is not a young man. He was sixty-five last June and every year of his long life is reflected in his face at the moment. 

He appears to be dozing as we drive, his head is tilted back against the headrest and the baseball cap I have given him to cut some of the sun's glare is pulled down over his eyes. He is so still that I can't help myself from reaching across to check his pulse. He stirs as I take his wrist and looks over at me through lowered lashes, but doesn’t pull away as I hold him firmly and gage his condition. 

He's okay I decide; his pulse rate is a little fast but nothing to concern me further. "I love you." I tell him as I release his arm and settle it carefully across his lap. Lifting my hand, I reach up to his cheek, touching him gently, caressing his well-loved face with the tips of my fingers. I am slightly taken back as Al flinches at my touch, but I don’t let it faze me. Even after almost three months of being home and with him it still amazes me that after so many years of being denied this simple pleasure that I am now able to touch him. It is something that should never be taken for granted, this ability to feel and be felt. He slowly relaxes and when I am satisfied he is as comfortable as I can make him for the time being I draw my hand away and concentrate on the road in front of us.

Al hasn't said more than two words by the time we reach the gates of the Project. To begin with I had thought he really had fallen asleep, but the cap has been pushed up now and for the past ten minutes of the journey his eyes have been open and seemingly fixed on the landscape as we pass it by. 

"Do you want to tell me what's on your mind?" I ask as we finally clear the Projects outer gates. I hesitate long enough to see them shut firmly behind us through the rear vision mirror before moving towards the main complex.

Seconds pass before the figure beside me stirs. Al looks confused as he finally turns to me. Not sure he has actually heard my question I repeat myself.

“I said, do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

"It's nothing Sam. I'm okay." He says quietly and not very convincingly.

I keep my eyes on the road ahead of us while I answer him. Al will argue the point with me, but I know he's not okay, far from it. "You're going to have to do better than that, because I don't believe you. Not for a minute," I inform him. 

I can see Al out of the corner of my eye and what I see doesn't reassure me. He doesn't comment further, instead he straightens in his seat, pushing the cap back further and regards me suspiciously across the small space between us. His brow is deeply furrowed as he watches me, not an attractive expression by any means and unfortunately it was one that was all too familiar lately. 

Al worries, works, and keeps far too much to himself and I have come to feel somewhat like the partner who is always the last to find out their mate is having an affair. Not that I thought Al was having an affair exactly, he has more energy than most men his age but even he has his limits. And it just so happens I know where those limits are. No, that part of our relationship is fine I remind myself, but I have to stop myself abruptly before I am completely convinced of the matter. I don't really know if Al is completely satisfied with me as a lover. He is the only man I have even been involved with in that way and even though he tells me I am pleasing him, doubts that didn't exist a moment ago are now beginning to surface. 

Finally, we pull up in front of the motor pool and I park the jeep in the same space that I removed it from two hours earlier. Sighing I release myself from my seat belt and relax for a moment. I am being foolish, looking for problems between Al and I that don't exist I tell myself as I stare through the dust covered windscreen at the garage in front of us. We've had our ups and downs, but I know Al would never lie about his feelings for me. Eventually I look over at him. I don't know how long we have been sitting here, surely it couldn't have been more than a minute, but he has removed his belt also and is now trying to open the passenger side door. 

"Hold on, Al." I say as I climb out of the jeep and go around to help him. "I want you to take it easy when we get inside, okay." I add once I have him firmly by the arm.

"I'm fine, Sam, stop fussing so much. It's not like I passed out or anything. Only puked up a bit," Al reminds me indignantly. I ignore his tone. His bark is far worse than his bite will ever be and I lead him silently back towards our quarters.

\---*--

Once inside the privacy of our rooms Al informs me wants to take a shower. I'm not surprised; he often showers during the day and changes into fresh clothing. It's an offset of spending so many years unable to wash or change while he was a prisoner of war. He takes off the cap he is still wearing and deposits it on the kitchen bench and then disappears without another word.

I place my sunglasses and keys on the bench next to the cap and then drop the near empty water flask into the kitchen sink. Dusty and tired myself I pour a glass of mineral water from one of several bottles we keep in the refrigerator and carry it with me back to our bedroom.

I don't follow Al into the bathroom; he's made it clear he doesn't want help or company, closing the door behind him instead of leaving it ajar as he does usually. I take those occasions as an unspoken invitation to join him and have taken him up on his offers frequently over the past months, but not this time.

Al is extremely private sometimes, lately he has sought more time to himself, sometimes going for hours to his now abandoned quarters to think, he says, after his sessions with Verbena. At first I was hurt, not quite understanding why he wouldn't share his progress with me as he had while I was leaping. 

I am aware Verbena has diagnosed Stockholm syndrome to explain Al's treacherous participation in his own abuse while he was imprisoned under the command of Commander Tran and that he has found Verbena's explanation for his behaviour difficult to accept. Al is proud and in many ways resentful that he could even fall prey to such manipulation. Against my better judgement I have not pressed him for more than he is willing to tell me, generally it is only an hour or so that he needs by himself and most often he returns more relaxed than before. 

These changes, in Al's treatment of me are not easy sometimes. No matter how small they are in comparison to the rest of our relationship I find myself feeling very unsure and often don't know how to deal with it. I understand it's just learning to be in a relationship and live with someone again. Both of us are out of practice and need time to adjust. Mostly it’s fine, but I don't think Al considers a lot of the time that as far as he and I are concerned, it's all new to me. Being involved with another man is not something I have any point of reference for and sometimes I just wish we could get back a little of what we had before I did come home.

A few minutes pass as I stare at the closed door of the bathroom and listen to the sounds of the water hitting the empty shower recess. Al obviously hasn't gotten in yet, and I wonder if he is being sick again. I move from my position perched on the edge of our bed and stand to cross the room, pausing when I hear more movement behind the closed door. The sound of the toilet flushing relieves some of my concern, but it's not enough to stop me from going to check on him.

Leaving my water glass on top of the dresser I take a clean pair of boxer shorts from one of the drawers on the pretence of giving them to Al and then open the bathroom door a little before announcing myself to him. The room is filling with steam and I fumble to switch on the exhaust fan to clear the room. The humidity in the small room is immediately uncomfortable for myself being fully clothed and I call out to Al again. It's too hot, he must be aware that the temperature of the water is not a good idea given his recent episode out at the house.

Even before the exhaust fan starts to work I can see well enough to tell that Al is in fact standing under the shower. The screen is open and moving further into the room I realize his head is bowed, back slightly arched as he braces himself against the side of the stall with out-stretched arms. 

Al is lean and compact, well kept, and I regard the sight of him completely naked with loving appreciation. He is beautiful to me, all of him. Strong and proud of his body, and his love for me, I remind myself. I cannot help myself from staring or taking a moment to enjoy the picture he makes. 

My eyes skip over the many small and not so small scars that cover Al's torso and back, noting absently that they stand out under the hot water pounding his back as my eyes travel over him. The room is clearing now and to my surprise I can see that Al is only using one hand to support himself. The other is lower down, between his legs, steadily pumping his straining erection. 

Al's head has turned towards me at the sound of my voice but the stroking of his cock hasn't missed a beat. My mind has only taken mere seconds to recognize this and now as I stand here watching him I don't know what to say. He knows I'm here, that I can see what he's doing. 

I swallow and take a couple of steps closer and as I do Al adds more vigour to his self-ministrations, groaning unashamedly at the pleasure he is giving himself. I should be aroused. It's not like I haven't seen him touch himself before, but I'm not. Something is very wrong with this picture. His movements are rough, angry, and what I would usually view as erotic now seems ugly. My eyes move over him again, tracing the body I have come to know as well as my own. Dark marks, not scars, I know them all; streak Al's upper thighs and buttocks. They look fresh and sore, red and angry; self-inflicted my mind registers after closer scrutiny -- long upward scratches that weren't there this morning.

Al's eyes have always been the windows to his soul, his deepest and mostly unspoken thoughts. Eyes that are dark with need, trimmed with pain and exposing a strange kind of relief. I'm not sure of what. I don't understand how he could do this, any of it with me only a few feet away, but I can't stand it any longer, by the sounds coming from Al's he is quickly approaching his climax. I drop the shorts I have brought him on the closed seat of the toilet and leave.

I am not going to cry I tell myself as I move through our quarters in a haze of confusion and head towards the kitchen, I don't know why. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing or what is happening. I will not fall apart as I feel I am about to; I assure myself once I have reached the kitchen. No, instead the reasonable, still thinking part of my mind takes over. I make the necessary preparations to brew some coffee for the sake of something to do. When I'm done I simply lean against the kitchen bench, rest my head on the cupboards above where I am standing and remind myself to breathe. I don't know what else to do. 

I have heard the water stop running in the bathroom followed by the sounds of movement in the bedroom a few minutes before so Al's appearance behind me doesn't come as any surprise. What does surprise me is that he doesn't apologise for what I consider an insult to our relationship. Nor does he offer any explanation for why he is behaving as he is. I don't want to even think about the marks I have seen on him, why he would do such a thing to himself?

Al is dressed in a fresh pair of slacks and a dark paisley silk shirt, no shoes or socks. Bare footed he pads about the kitchen with me collecting coffee cups and politely excusing himself as we collide with one another in the small space.

It is obvious Al is at as much of a loss on what to say to me as I am to him and the uncomfortable silence between us becomes almost unbearable as we move about the kitchen together. _Don't cry, just don't,_ I repeat to myself until I hear the words in my head as if they are a mantra that will somehow stop the inevitable from happening. 

Eventually the coffee is ready but my hands are trembling so much as I take my cup from Al that I have to use both to hold it. Our eyes lock momentarily but the intensity of the situation is too much for me, so I look away.

"Say something, Sam. For Christ sake, will you just say something to me? I can't stand it when you don't talk to me." Al demands as I turn from him and begin to move out of the all too confining space of the kitchen.

Stopping mid stride, I swallow hard, but don't turn around. "What would you have me say?" I ask him, my voice trembling as much as my hands.

"Anything. Yell if you want. I know you don't understand, and for that I am sorry. You have to believe me Sam."

I hear Al sigh heavily behind me and with this I do turn and face him. Anger has given way to confusion, the sadness that still threatens to consume giving me strength. If it's an argument Al wants from me then I am willing to oblige him.

"You're damn right I don't understand, Al. What on earth is going on with you? Why did you run out of the house and throw up? Why when we get back here you close the door and jerk off in the shower. Jesus Al…" I have lost my conviction, my anger has died a quick and unsatisfactory death and now my own voice sounds pathetic to my ears. _Don't cry, I warn myself_. "...If you wanted to make love, why didn't you just say so?" 

Al's face is blank, lacking any recognizable emotion. He stares at me for a moment shaking his head and then steps closer, I reach for him thinking he is about to embrace me but he wards me off, passing me by without another word on route to the living room. 

Frightened I have gone too far I follow him; Al has seated himself on one of the twin sofas and I sit opposite, acknowledging he doesn't want contact right now, which is fine with me because I'm afraid that if I do touch him I will shake him silly.

Nursing my coffee mug between my clasped hands I take a deep breath and look over at him. He has his head in his hands now, bent over, seemingly lost in his own thoughts for the time being. I don't know what to say to Al, I'm too unsure of him and myself at this moment, so I wait. 

Finally, he looks up. "I didn't want to… make love, as you put it Sam. That's why I didn't say anything to you." Al tells me quietly, patiently. 

We both know what he was doing in the bathroom had nothing to do with love, or me I suspect. But neither one of us can apparently find the words necessary to express it.

"I just wanted the release."

"From what, Al? Me?" 

"No Sam. Not from you." He says reassuring me, his expression honest and open.

I believe Al, but very little of what has happened in the past few hours is making a great deal of sense to me right now. Al had been frightened out of his wits at the house, so frightened he was ill because of it. Then when we get back here he's getting his load off with me watching him. I can't bring myself to go anywhere near that subject of the other things I had seen in the bathroom, can't even decipher what they actually were or if I am supposed to bring them up or not. I remember the look of relief I had seen on Al's face and find myself wondering if that was his intention. For me to catch him and this is some strange way of telling me something, only I can't figure out what it is.

"What then? Explain it to me." I say simply.

"Things got tense and I needed to…you know." 

"What things? Are you talking about what happened at the house?" I ask, hoping he will actually tell me.

"Yeah, I guess." Al confirms as he reaches for cigar box on the coffee table. "Hang on will ya." 

I watch as Al fiddles with the cigar he has removed from the small timber box. A little annoyed he is choosing now to break off our conversation. 

Carefully he unwraps, trims and then lights the Chivello with practiced ease. Taking a couple of puffs Al then runs the fingers of his free hand through his damp hair. He looks more relaxed now and even though I wish he could have given up smoking completely I am relieved that at least he has cut down.

"It took me all by surprise, is all." Al explains, immediately picking up where we left off as he leans back into the sofa and stretches his arms across its cushioned shoulder. His demeanour has changed quite dramatically in the past few minutes I note and he sounds almost flippant when he speaks again. 

"I didn't expect you to want to set up housekeeping anywhere but here…" He continues, waving the cigar in a small arc to indicate the Project. "…Or that you'd make a decision like buying a house, a house I can't afford I might add Sam, without discussing it with me first." 

Al is eyeing me accusingly and I am back to feeling guilty again, and I don't like it one bit. In retrospect I should have said something to Al first. In my mind I had thought of the house as a surprise, not something that would burden him, a new beginning for us to start Al's retirement with together. 

"I thought you liked the idea of having a place of our own? That you hated having to sneak around?" I remind him, hoping Al would remember all the times he has expressed his dislike of having to keep what we have now a secret. 

"Well it's a nice idea Sam, but I don't know how realistic it's going to be to have us living so far off site." Al says matter-of-factly. Taking a long draw on the Chivello he rests his head against one of his out stretched arms then adds. "And like I've already told you, once I've retired there won't be any reason for us to keep our relationship under wraps so it won't matter where we live." His voice is now tinged with sarcasm, one of his favourite weapons of late. 

What he is telling me is correct of course. We have discussed the impact of our relationship on his career before, both of us knowing that once Al is a civilian again he won't be bound by the same antiquated code of conduct he has been forced to live under for most of his adult life. He can 'come out' without fear of recrimination and technically not suffer any more discrimination than others in our situation and time of life do. 

He is quiet now, leisurely enjoying his cigar as if he is waiting for me to say something else. I don't know why but for some reason Al appears to have completely disregarded the events in the bathroom and my feelings, purposely trying to minimize the situation and lay the responsibility squarely at my feet and I simply did not know how to deal with it. 

"I'm sorry." I say, suddenly defeated. "I thought it would be easier if we had our own place. Lessen some of the stress you’re under here." I add. It is my last attempt to explain myself, futile I know even as the words leave my lips. 

I really should have known better. 

Al's head comes up as he removes the Chivello from the corner of his mouth and straightens his posture. "Yeah I know you thought that. You're always thinking of ways to fix things for me, as if you'd know Sam." His words cut deep, as I am certain they were meant to. 

I need to leave, get away from him. Al is regarding me thoughtfully as I sit, wounded from his unnecessary attack, trying to find the strength to look away from his accusing gaze. I know he is expecting me to challenge his remark, but I can't. It's best, I decide if I give him and myself some  
space. I feel the tears that I had held back earlier through sheer will threaten me again.

"I'm sorry." I repeat quietly, but loud enough that I know Al has heard my apology. I place my coffee mug on the table in front of me and stand up.

I make my excuses. Al doesn't appear surprised that I have just given up. Why should he? This is obviously what he wanted. He makes a passing remark about dinner later, which I agree too and I tell him I am going to my office. I have work to do before the committee arrives from Washington tomorrow and I leave. 

After I close the door of our quarters firmly behind me I make a beeline for my office and thankfully I only encounter a few people along the way. I'm not hiding, but that is where I stay for the next three hours, reading over my report to the committee and trying not to think that my life with Al was changing, and not for the better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt is a powerful emotion. I know, I have more guilt than most people have hot dinners. _Hell_ , I've also got five ex-wives that alone should say something about what a cock up I am sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for disclaimer and notes.

_**Al** _

Guilt is a powerful emotion. I know, I have more guilt than most people have hot dinners. _Hell_ , I've also got five ex-wives that alone should say something about what a cock up I am sometimes.

Honestly I wonder how I manage to get myself into some of the situations I do. Sam doesn't deserve to be treated as badly as I've treated him today. And he certainly shouldn't be saddled with responsibility for what happened out at the house. It wasn't his fault; it was mine and mine alone. He's been so understanding of my moods of late that seeing him just give up on the house and his mission to make my life and his a little easier makes me feel like shit.

Sure he pushed a bit in the beginning, when he first came home and we got together. But, God bless him, he backed right off after I explained I needed my space. I know him, he thinks everything that happens is about us being a couple and doesn't have a clue that this _shit_ that Verbena's has laid on me is just too much to cope with some days. I know what she's going to say and I know she's right. Sam isn't Tran; he's not trying to manipulate me; he is trying to help in the only ways he knows how.

Verbena thinks telling Sam exactly what's happening for me will help, but I can't see how. I tried to today and we know how that turned out? It didn't work. I reflect on Sam's confused expression when he had walked in on me in the bathroom and shudder at the memory. He's too straight, even after three months of sleeping with another man; Sam Beckett is still very conservative about so many things. And if I try and explain what he's done today has pushed my buttons and how, he'll probably need more time in therapy than I do. It's not his fault I'm the way I am and he shouldn't have to deal with it.

I finish my cigar before I make a move to get on with the rest of the day. Stubbing it out I take the Chivello's remains and the ashtray I have used and dispose of both items before I don the socks, shoes and jacket I am still lacking.

Dumping my untouched coffee in the sink I leave Sam's and my quarters and take the elevator ten floors down.

Main control still operates as it once did. Okay so we don't have Sam floating around in time but tests are still being made on amongst other things, the accelerator and retrieval programs.

I had initially wanted to have the accelerator chamber dismantled as soon as Sam leaped home, but the committee and Sam wouldn't hear of it. Millions of dollars’ worth of technology couldn't simply be disregarded they had argued and finally won out. Sam has agreed however to have certain alterations made. A second voice and operating code are now necessary before either program can be run and there's a backup that excludes any human presences in the chamber during testing. It's not much, but it's enough to keep me sane.

Doctor Verbena Beeks, Project shrink and personal friend of mine has an open door policy in regards to her office. Open door as in when she wasn't seeing someone who requires her expertise she leaves it ajar. That's where I'm headed, to see Verbena. Her office has remained on the same level as main control even though the close proximity to the waiting room isn't necessary any more. There seemed no reason to relocate to her after Sam came home and after seven years of everyone finding her conveniently down the hall from the Project's hub Verbena was happy to stay put.

Thankfully no one takes any notice of my frequent visits to Doctor Beeks' office. Its common knowledge that we are friends and considering Verbena is one of the original team our time spent together is generally viewed through the grapevine as no more than two colleagues exchanging information. It always pays to stay tuned into the local gossip, I think a little nervously today as I approach the main group.

Passing the technicians working on various control panels I offer a causal nod to Paul Shepherd, Gooshie's replacement and keep on going. God I never thought I'd miss Gooshie as much as I do. We weren't friends by any stretch of the imagination and after he took up with Tina all bets were off. There was no way could we have ever gotten close after that because for all everyone else knew, he'd taken my girlfriend away from me, and right from under my nose. But Gooshie was so much a part of this place that coming down here now he's gone just doesn't seem the same somehow. Losing him only weeks before Sam came home is another regret to add to the many I guess. We didn’t know until it was too late that he was even sick. Not that Gooshie told anyone about the cancer or the pain he must have been in much of the time he had manned the imaging chamber controls while Sam was leaping. No, it was all beyond help by the time we finally found out and then there was nothing any of us could do but mourn his passing as the only family he had and do what I am now, by remembering the boundless contributions he made to Project Quantum Leap.

Verbena's door _is_ slightly ajar when I finally reach my destination. Knocking once before easing the door open I find her stretched out on her sofa comfortably propped up on one elbow and speaking quietly into a small hand held tape recorder. Noting my entrance Verbena immediately ceases her monologue and depresses the stop button on the side of the machine while motioning me inside. 

"Hi Al. Take a seat." She gestures toward one of the leather armchairs in the middle of the room. "I'll be right with you."

"Thanks."

Rising, Verbena moves to join me; leaving the tape recorder and the notebook she had been reading from on the sofa.

"And to what do I owe a visit from you Al?" She smiles. It's warm and genuine and I can't help feeling safe each time I'm the recipient of one of her smiles. Lucky me, I think. To have Sam and Verbena in my life. To find such love and understanding from two very special people. Another stab of guilt for my earlier transgressions strikes me, but I manage to keep up a solid front.

"Can't keep me away from you for too long Bena, you know what I'm like. I'm a sucker for a pretty face and psych degree." I tell her and return her smile shyly, hopefully adverting her away from anything she may have read on my face.

"Well, I'm flattered Admiral."

The use of my title is a bit of a joke between us these days. The Admiral and the shrink, a very unlikely pair when you think about it. I smile at the thought. If anyone had told me when I joined the Project that I would end up going not just willing, but regularly to spend time with the resident head-shrinker I would have laughed in his or her face.

"Of course you are Bena, that's why I come here. To keep your self-esteem up."

Her smile has faded somewhat and I know it’s time to cut to the chase. So much for calm, cool and collected. Verbena knows me too well. She probably knows why I'm here. Honestly it wouldn't surprise me if she did. There is not much she doesn't know about me and I find myself wondering sometimes what she thinks of it all. Of me?

"What is it, Al?" Verbena asks gently, crossing her leg over her knee as turns towards me a little more.

I can't meet her eyes, so I look passed her at the degrees and awards on the wall behind her. "I had an argument with Sam," I say simply. It's not exactly the truth, but we'll get to that soon enough. Explaining that I treated him like dirt because I couldn't fess up and tell him the truth isn't something I'm proud of.

"I see." Verbena answers using her most long-suffering tone. 

I nod; this is how we start. I spill my guts and Verbena listens patiently. It strikes me then as I decide what I will tell her next, that Sam being his happy self would want to share his plans regarding the house and how he was going to make my declining years’ stress free with someone else and because that someone couldn't be me given the circumstances, he has probably told the one other person who knows about us.

"Did you know he’s bought us a house Verbena?" I ask her.

The woman beside me shifts a little, uncomfortably, I think. "So he finally told you then? I’m glad Al." She answers casually.

"You did know." As I thought, damn it, I knew Sam couldn't have kept something like that to himself for too long. "Why didn't you say something? Jesus Verbena, you know I don't like surprises. I can't take people, especially people who claim to care about me, throwing me curve balls like that." I am decidedly pissed off now and let Verbena know it in no uncertain terms.

"I can't believe this, you knew and you didn't think I ought to know about it before he just springs it on me." I'm up now, though I don't know where I plan on going. There isn't enough space to pace and I simply stand for a moment, losing much of my anger when I look back down at the woman waiting patiently for me to finish blowing off steam. I've done it again, lost my temper. Turned my frustration and anger on those closest to me.

Verbena is sitting forward in her chair, regarding me cautiously as I quickly run out of the aforementioned steam and sit back down. The moment I do she reaches across to lay one gentle hand on my shoulder. It feels good, a hand of friendship, no more. Something I miss these days. Verbena's hands are small and delicate, very different from Sam's I note.

"If you'd told me…" I begin, twisting to look at her and reigning in my frustration as much as I can. I don't know what I was going to say, what I was thinking. Maybe if she'd told me about Sam's plans I would have been prepared, that the combination of events wouldn't have affected me as they had. It's pointless, a waste of breath. What happened today isn't any more Verbenas' fault as it was Sam's.

I'm still shaking so I need to take a moment before I can speak again. Verbena waits while I force myself to slow my breathing sufficiently, stroking my shoulder and back until gradually my unwarranted anger at her, myself, (which is far from unwarranted) and the whole situation between Sam and I, recedes. I shift under Verbena's soothing hand and she withdraws it, lacing her fingers together and settles them in her lap.

"I need a coffee. Can I get you anything?" I ask as I stand and walk slowly to the café bar on the other side of the desk. Not waiting for her answer I begin preparations for my own. 

"No thanks, Al I've just finished one." Verbena informs me.

We chat about inconsequential things while I fill my cup, adding milk and a couple of the sugar replacement tablets Verbena keeps handy and before long I am re-seated beside her, sipping my coffee. 

"Are you better now Al?" She inquires as the minute’s slip by.

"Yeah, I'm fine Bena. Sorry I lost my cool," I tell her.

Verbena doesn't say it's okay; she never does, because we both know it's not. I have to learn to control my temper, stop finding excuses and other people to blame.

"Do you still want to talk me about the fight you had with Sam over the house. Because I have time if you do." Verbena offers.

"Thanks I do want to talk, but the fight wasn't over the house exactly. I mean, I wasn't thrilled about it, but that's not what we fought over."

"What then?" Verbena encourages gently.

I know I need to start at the beginning but it all seems tangled up now. I finish my coffee and set the cup on the edge of the desk while I gather my thoughts; trying to find some semblance of order for them and the events of the day.

"When Sam took me out there today and announced he'd bought the house he was showing me, it came as a shock to start with and I was angry with him, but you should have seen his face Verbena. Big puppy dog eyes pleading with me, wanting me to be as excited as he was and he was doing that thing he does with his chin when he wants his own way. You know the one I mean, don't you?" I inquire, pretty sure she does.

Verbena grins broadly. "I believe I do, Al."

"Yeah, I thought you might. Well you know what it's like when he gets like that then. I couldn't say anything to him. He was so pleased with himself and he got me going, really interested when he started showing me around and pointing out all the advantages of having a place of our own," I explain; arching an eyebrow ever so slightly as I do.

Verbena nods, understanding to what I was referring. She's good like that, doesn't require too many details when it comes to the ins and outs of Sam's and my sex life, though she's probably got a better handle on it most days than both Sam and I put together.

"Anyway." I go on trying not to spend too much time thinking about how utterly exposed I feel sometimes talking to Verbena. "We work our way through the house and finally Sam shows me the main bathroom. It's been renovated like the rest of the place and is all decked out with a huge tub and all the mod cons. People who had the place before Sam found it must have had a thing for water conservation or something because the tub's big enough for a small family to bathe in together."

I watch Verbena as I speak; she smiles at my over exaggerated description of the bathtub and after a pause I pick up the story again. "Sam's holding me from behind as we check out the size of the tub, huddling up real close and whispering in my ear that when we move in he wants to christen the bathroom first. I'm okay with what he's suggesting Bena." I inform her quickly, knowing full well that she would be concerned with my reaction and whatever memories Sam's idea has stirred up.

Verbena looks wary, which is not surprising. "It's the truth," I assure her. " I wasn't at the time, but Sam doesn't remember any of the leaps, least of all leaping into me the last time. Thank God. And even if he did, he'd never treat me as Tran did. He's not Tran," I say for both our benefits.

In all the years I have known the woman sitting beside me this is about as noticeably surprised as I have ever seen her and that mere fact alone is very unsettling.

"I'm sorry Al. I know your right Sam would never intentionally set out to remind you of what Commander Tran did to you. But I can understand that must have been very difficult for you." Verbena returns, shaking her head a little in disbelief.

"It was and no, I know Sam wouldn't hurt me like that. He knows about what happened to me, what I did and I've told him about some of the things you and I talk about. But he has no memory of being there himself so the details of what happened to him in Vietnam are gone too. It's okay; really it wasn't just what he said."

"But you said you fought with him, did something else happen?"

This was the crunch, time to face the music. Verbena is watching me closely and even though I had known from the moment that I set foot through her open door I was going to tell her just how Sam's words had affected me, the thought of her reaction left me feeling very unsure.

"I started the fight Verbena, Sam just got caught in the way." I begin slowly, avoiding her steady gaze as best I can by looking at my aged and slightly shaking hands. Verbena might know everything there is to know about me and my problems but it doesn't change the fact that I am deeply ashamed of what I've done.

"He's so damn good to me that sometimes I honestly think he'd be better off without me. If we weren't together, he wouldn't have to deal with how I am. He doesn't deserve it. "

"You haven't told him have you Al?" Verbena asks gently.

I shake my head. "No. He'd be horrified if I told that's where Tran used to do it to me. He'd never forgive himself."

I raise my eyes a little, noting the movement of the woman beside me. Verbena sits back in her chair, apparently accepting what I have said, and rightly so I think. It's not like it's something you can argue. It's the plain truth and neither of us can say different. We both know Sam, and we both know he would be devastated to think he had suggested we re-enact something that had been a nightly event for me all those years ago.

"Sam does need to know there are triggers to that time in your life though Al. Now that you and he are together, he should know what's okay for you and what's not. As your partner he has a right to know that having sex in the bath reminds you of being raped. Otherwise he's never going to understand, possibly keep making the same mistakes until you tell him why." Verbena explains. Repeating what she has already told me a number of times over the past few months.

"Easier said than done," I tell her, shaking my head again; mostly at my own foolishness. "I agree with what you’re saying Verbena, but it's not that simple. Sam is still adjusting to us. He doesn't remember leaping in to me while I was with Tran, and I don't want him to. It was bad enough having to be with him when that bastard was hurting him. If I tell him too much he's going to know it wasn't just me Tran raped, and where."

"That's always a possibility. And if that happens, then we will deal with it, but you can't not tell Sam because you’re afraid of what he might remember. You do remember Al, and that's what is causing your conflict now."

I look up at Verbena, meeting her eyes. She is right. My recollections of the time I had spent in Commander Tran's camp had been the catalyst for me today; they had reawakened feelings that I couldn't control. Distorted my perceptions of my life now and Sam's intentions to the point that I couldn't tell the difference between his genuine devotion and Tran's cruel manipulation.

My mouth is dry when I finally open it and speak. "I do remember him, Bena. I remember what it was like and how it felt, every day of my life. When I least expect it, the whole ordeal comes back, taking over my thoughts, controlling me, just like he did back then."

"I know Al and I understand that this is hard for you, but you’re not alone in this, I'm here," Verbena offers; her nearest hand reaching over to add comfort to her words. "Sam loves you. He's going to understand that time in your life has left scars," she says, gently stroking my shoulder. "But scars, given time and the proper care will eventually heal.”

"They do if you leave them alone," I say bluntly. Surprising myself at how easily the words come out and how close to the surface my old reservations are. My reasoning from the beginning has been that the past was better for all concerned left in the past. It had been Sam and Verbena who had convinced me that talking about it would help. "But if you can't leave them alone, the scars I mean, Verbena and you poke at them, scratch them, they don't heal. They keep opening up and sooner or later they bleed."

I can see by the questioning look I am receiving from Verbena that my cryptic response to her analogy has her curious. Ignoring it for the moment I forge ahead.

"And as for Sam understanding, well, that's where you are very much mistaken." 

Verbena's curiosity is definitely piqued. Shifting again in her chair, she pulls her hand away and causally smooths the leg of the tailored slacks she is wearing. It's a very natural motion, which to the uneducated almost looks unplanned. I can't say that I blame her for that. I don't sound very sane talking in riddles. A little distance is probably wise. I know I should just spit out what I came here to tell her. Though I'm not sure anymore why I'm telling her what I did, what Sam saw me doing. Yeah, I know she's my friend and doctor, but what do I expect her to do about it? Give me absolution perhaps, not even a priest would do that.

I look over at Verbena again. Her posture is relaxed, patient, as always, but I know from many months of sessions like this that she is waiting, no doubt wondering to what explanation I will give. I don't wait for her to ask. "You remember that other discussion you suggested I have with him? The one where I tell him I need a little more stimulation in the bedroom?"

She nods slowly and all I can do in response to her unflappable disposition is laugh. It's a very small humorous-less laugh that doesn't fool either of us. Of course she remembers, it was her idea that I tell Sam about the most bizarre side effect to my imprisonment. The specific stimulation in question is my perverse craving for him to add a little pain to our nightly agenda.

"Sorry." I say immediately, embarrassed and suddenly finding the scenery at my feet very interesting.

"It’s okay, Al. Whatever it is just take your time. Do you want another coffee?"

Verbena's ability to remain patient with me is a modern mystery some days. I decline her offer, choosing instead to push on.

"It had its opening today and let me tell you, it didn't go well at all."

"You told him?"

"No, not exactly. When we got back from the house I was feeling pretty wrung out. I took a shower, to relax." I add though it's not necessary, my intentions at the time had been only to shake off the dust and relieve a little tension. I'm only validating my actions for my own benefit. Verbena understands, God, she's taught me most the methods I use to unwind.

"I was okay, mostly anyway, until I started thinking about him, Commander Tran." I wrap my arms around myself as I talk, and close my eyes. It's a little easier this way, helps me focus. "It was hot in the bathroom, steaming up. I striped off to get under the shower and I…" This is the hard part, telling Verbena that the combination of heat and the memories turned me on. Keeping my eyes closed I swallow and force the next few words out

"I was aroused," I say. "I could have turned the cold water on, but I didn't."

"Do you know why, Al?"

I shake my head, no and then let the words flow anyway. "It was as if I could feel his hands on me again, scratching me, hurting me how he had in the beginning. Forcing me until I knew I had no choice. Give in or die trying to defend something he'd already taken. Remembering the fear, knowing that if I died, I…" I stop; Verbena knows why I had finally let it happen. I had stayed alive by whatever methods I could manage back then. For one reason and one reason alone, I had to go home, home to Beth. But as it turned out it had all been for nothing. She wasn't there, she'd moved on with her life because she thought I was dead when all I'd been trying to do was stay alive. It hurt too much to think about, let alone say out loud. Hurt more so because I had developed feelings for the bastard who kept me from her and made me like it.

"I was angry."

"At Tran?"

"No, myself. And then later at Sam, because I know he could never accept that I need more than the gentleness he offers." I drop my hands to my upper thighs, shadowing the area I had abused -- protecting my trophies while I can. I open my eyes and look at Verbena.

"He walked in on me while I was remembering. I haven't been able to ask Sam to give me what I need from time-to-time and he saw me taking care of it myself."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do I give you what you need Al?" I ask him.
> 
> "You love me, Sam. That's all I need."
> 
> "Is it enough?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for disclaimer and warnings.

**_Sam_ **

It's late now and I'm in bed waiting for Al to finish his shower. Even though I still feel odd about the events of the day I'm very relieved the tension between us seems to have passed. I love Al and I know he loves me; it's just our differences make it hard sometimes for us to communicate the way I know we both would like. 

I contemplated going to see Verbena a dozen times this afternoon. I even got as far as dialling her extension, but I couldn't go through with it. Al would probably react badly when he found out and the last thing I wanted was for him to do was close himself off from me even more than he already was. 

Dinner between the two of us was relaxed. Al had cooked a simple pasta meal he knows I enjoy and added a bottle of red wine from the very few left over from my coming home party. It was ready and waiting for me when I had finally left the sanctuary of my office and returned to the surface. He had greeted me when I arrived and insisted that he hadn't gone to any trouble at all when I commented on the set table and the wine. It was Al's way of making amends I realised and decided just to enjoy it. 

Propped up on both Al's and my pillows I pass the time while I wait for him by flicking the channels on the television but I haven't found anything that seems even remotely interesting, so I switch the set off. Best way to ruin your love life is to watch TV in bed. I read that somewhere, or heard it perhaps, I'm not sure which. The stray thought, where ever it came from gets me thinking though about Al's and my love life again. My own fears mostly, and what I saw when I caught him masturbating earlier today. We haven't discussed it further and I'm not really sure I want to. I know the marks I had seen on his body had been self-inflicted, but like so many things I know of Al's past and the reasoning behind why he would do such a thing to himself is beyond my comprehension. 

Al is nothing but gentle with me, he seems content with the slow mutual pleasuring we engage in most of the time. I know there's more, but Al doesn't press me for more than what he knows I'm comfortable with. Which I think, is where our problems lay. 

I have an idea. Perhaps my curiosity can be answered without having to ask Al to explain it to me. I hear the shower still running in the bathroom and go in search of the few magazines that we have. Actually I'm looking for one in particular. 

Not long after I came home Al and I took a trip to Washington. We spent the weekend in a hotel and caught up with several of committee members whom hadn't been able to meet with us earlier. Once the meetings were over Al and I had some very much-needed time to ourselves. One morning I woke up and Al had disappeared. He had left a note explaining when he would return and telling me I should just relax until he got back. Of course I couldn't, and after about an hour of hanging around the room on my own I decided to go for a walk. Once I got outside I walked for about a block when I found a newsstand. I had already bought the Washington Post when my eyes fell upon several glossy covered publications with well-dressed young men on the front. They were not the usual sort of reading material that gets my attention, but then again different things interest me these days. I knew as soon as I had picked up the one I had eventually bought that it wasn't a fashion magazine, though the latest fashions were included amongst the articles inside. Basically it is a gay version of playboy and once I had it in my hands I realised that I could be doing a little useful research in Al's absence. That and the fact that the news vender was watching me like a hawk and I couldn't bring myself to simply put it back and walk away. 

Leaning over to Al's side of the bed I shuffled through the collection of papers, guides and the few magazines he keeps on the night-stand, locating what I'm looking for right at the bottom of the small pile. Pulling it out I straighten what I have dislodged and then thumb through the pages trying to find something I hadn't already read. 

I had, much to Al's amusement, read many of the articles contained in the magazine. He had smiled his most understanding smile when I first showed it to him, stating he understood it to be a very popular publication even though he'd never bought one himself. I didn't believe him of course. He had sat quietly that day in our hotel room reading over my shoulder and then without warning promptly ravished me. It had been an experience, which had definitely been worth my embarrassment while dealing with news vender and the price I had paid for it. 

Certainly after we returned home I have on a number of occasions glanced at the pictures and even the centrefold whenever I picked it up to read, but to date I had not been able to open the sealed section which had been included in this edition. 

I looked at it now much as I had a couple of months ago, not sure I really wanted to see what had been described as the 'ultimate in eroticism and the fine line'. There are clear warnings on the outer cover regarding the contents of what would be found inside and I read them once more for good measure before I break the seal.

Slowly I let my eyes scan over the pages and pictures of men engaged in all manners of extreme sexual activities. So enthralled in what I see, part of me horrified and another part is totally riveted to the tensed and straining bodies displayed before me that I don't hear Al turning the lights off in the still lit rooms of our quarters and enter the bedroom. He is standing only a foot away from the bed when I look up and is watching me seriously. I glance back down at the page I am reading, understanding that finding me laying on the bed reading an article on fisting is not something he is familiar with. 

My face heats slightly, I shouldn't be embarrassed, we are both adults after all. But it makes no difference; I am very uncomfortable with the fact that I am so inexperienced. "It looks painful," I manage to say still looking down at the page.

"That's one way to describe it,” Al returns nonchalantly. His initial surprise faded into indifference. 

"Have you tried it?" This asked under veiled eyes as I pull myself into a sitting position. Crossing my legs, I await Al's reply. He pauses, weighting his answer carefully I understand, but his hesitation has already given him away. I can't imagine it; my Al party to anything described in the pages in front of me.

I shift uncomfortably on the bed; close the magazine and push it over the edge and out of view. Al is at my side now, moving closer he reaches down to stroke my cheek. 

"What are you doing, Sam?" He questions. 

I don't know what to say to; how to explain. It's silly, searching magazines for answers. 

The hand on my face feels wonderful; gentle yet so sure of its intent. I nuzzle his palm, kissing its centre as I rub my face against him. Lifting my arms, I encircle Al’s waist and pull him closer still and his hand slips to my hair. His fingers threading through its length, soothing me, letting me know it’s okay. 

"Just reading." I finally manage to say, my face pressed against his stomach.

Al smells fresh, clean and undeniably good after his shower. He is only wearing the loose pyjama bottoms he favours for bed. They sit low on his hips and are caught by a drawstring that I know from experience doesn't require a lot to release. I don't try to untie the half bow when I draw back from the embrace. Instead I run my hand over his hip and rest in carefully over the area where I had seen the scratches earlier.

"Do I give you what you need Al?" I ask him.

"You love me, Sam. That's all I need."

"Is it enough?" 

Another strong hand mirrors its twin which has never left my hair or ceased its careful stroking and my head is gently lifted back. He doesn't answer me; instead Al bends forward and kisses me. I know the instant his mouth covers mine that it's a tactic to divert my attention and stop me from asking more questions, but I don't try to stop him as he guides me backward on to the bed. 

The kiss is sweet, wet and very arousing as his lips glide over mine and his tongue slips inside, first searching the interior of my mouth and then travelling back to my face and neck. Sucking on my throat and driving any thoughts of putting him off so we can talk further from my mind. Because all I can think of now is how good it feels with Al stretched out on top of me gently thrusting against my waking erection.

I open myself to Al as I have every day since my return and encourage him further, guiding his head back to mine for another kiss while matching him thrust for thrust. I'm completely hard before long, it doesn't take a lot, and I grin at Al when he pulls back and our eyes meet. I know he understands when it comes to this I can't get enough of him. His touch makes me behave in ways I have never before. 'They have names for men like you, you know Sam.' Al had told me once. Mind you I've never known him to ever complain about how easy it was to get me interested. 

Make up sex is what this will be and even though there haven’t been many times in the last few months when this has happened I want this time to better than ever before. I twist under him, reaching for the lamp above my head to switch it off. Reading my thoughts Al takes care of the other one before I have a chance to say anything. He helps me with the covers on the bed when I push them down and out of our way using my feet and then waits while I adjust my position on the bed for better comfort. Reaching for him I tug Al forward and he lies between my splayed legs, resting against me as we kiss once more. This time his kiss is hot and insistent as he uses his tongue to re-ignite anything we may have lost. Nothing beats sex with Al but I have to admit the feel of his tongue slipping in and out of my mouth comes obscenely close.

Al moves his attention to my chest and I arch under him as he kisses and licks across my hardening nipples. Stopping to suck at one then the other before going lower still. I know where he's headed and I can't stop myself from urging him on. It's so good with Al, he knows I love this, knows from my body's reaction alone that I want him. Words I have discovered in the past months aren't necessary when we're like this but I manage a few nonetheless. I want to tell him I love him, what he's doing feels wonderful.

"Feels good." I pant as my hands tangle in his hair, holding on to him and riding on the wave of pleasure he is creating for me, for us. Just letting myself enjoy him, enjoying me. Al stops again when he reaches my navel, his tongue teasing me ruthlessly. He knows it tickles and when I begin to squirm a little I feel his mouth turn up at the corners as he smiles against me. Mission accomplished he kisses my stomach and moves once more, this time trailing a wet path through the hair just above my boxer shorts. 

I'm not going to make it I realise as Al begins to peel down my shorts. I'm going to come before he even touches me where I need him to most of all. 

Using my greater strength, I pull Al up by his shoulders and roll us until I have him on his back and I can straddle his hips.

"Have to stop…a moment." I rasp, my voice breaking up under the effort as I hold my lower body away from Al. The mere contact of his flesh against my own is enough at the moment. "I want to be able last a bit longer, Al" 

Even in the dark I can see my lover's smile and his eyes sparkling up at me. My face heats and I am relieved he cannot see my complete embarrassment in this light. It's bad enough I behave like a teenager each time things get a bit hot and heavy between us without having Al knowing that pretty much sums up how making love with him makes me feel.

"It's okay, baby. Don't sweat it. We can slow things down a bit if you want." Al tells me, his tone husky and incredibly seductive as he strokes down the middle of my chest. "What would you like to do?" 

I don't need to be asked twice. "For you to make love to me," I whisper, surprised that I have actually spoken the words aloud.

The hand on my chest slides up and over my shoulder pulling me back down and I once again find myself pressed against Al's straining erection. He pushes his hips up, grinding our pelvises together.

"I thought that's what I was doing," he says.

The feeling of Al's cock, hot and hard pushing against mine is tortuous. So close to exploding the contact is almost too much for me and I have no choice but to scramble back, retreating to the end of the bed. If I am going to make this night memorable then I have to stop myself from putting an end to it too soon.

Al pushes up on his elbows, watching me carefully when I settle at his feet.

"It's okay. I want you to make love to me." I say again, knowing Al needs reassurance; stroking his ankle to maintain contact while I explain. "But I don't want to disappoint you by finishing even before we get started." I try to sound casual but the need inside of me, need for so much more than just the satisfaction of sex with my lover makes me sound desperate. 

"You don't disappoint me, Sam." Al tells me sitting up against the headboard of the bed, his legs splayed apart invitingly. "I'm sorry I pushed. I thought you were kidding about being so close. Jeez Sam you really know how to boost a guy’s confidence you know."

"I love you." Is all I can manage. 

Al doesn't respond to my declaration, his head is thrown back slightly, taking a moment like myself to catch his breath. It is obvious, all jokes aside that I am not the only one affected by the intensity of our lovemaking. 

Somewhere through the proceedings Al has loosened the drawstring on his pyjamas and his cock has escaped. The heavy appendage is lying against his stomach now, rising and falling in time with his laboured breathing.

"Will you Al?" I ask, stroking his leg higher up.

His head comes up. "Depends what you mean Sam." 

"I want you to…" We don't use words like 'fuck' or 'top' when we're making love and I struggled with what to say so as to get my meaning through to him. 

Al never asked me, the first time he simply led the way. I couldn't deny him once the act was in motion and I didn't want to. The incredible sensation of actually being inside of his body while we made love was perfect. It was how we were meant to feel together and no one, least of all myself could convince me it was wrong. I wanted Al to feel what I did, wanted him to have what he gave to me.

"I want to feel you inside of me." I finally said, feeling like the words didn't nearly explain.

My hand lost touch of Al's leg as he moved even though I knew he wasn't pulling away from me. Sitting up he leant forward and kissed me lightly on the lips, his hands sliding around my waist and up my chest. Resting his head on my shoulder as he spoke. "Is that what you want, Sam, or is this another one of your ideas that this is something I want? Because it's not." Al wasn't being unkind; his tone of voice was as gentle as his hands and I had no sense that he was angry with me for asking for what I had.

"It's not?"

"No, Sam." Al answers. Skilful hands never still as he continues to stroke my back, occasionally fingering the hair on my chest. Peppering kisses intermittently on my cheek, temple and forehead.

Al's touch is in-ignorable but I was still a little confused, too confused to not ask the obvious question. He enjoys anal sex, there is no mistake, and mostly it is he who initiates it. "Are you saying you won't or that you don't like it?" I ask him.

"No. I do enjoy it, very much Sam. You know that." The hand on my chest moves to my chin and tilts my face towards the man holding me carefully in his arms. Dark shining eyes searching mine, imploring my attention. "It's just that I don't have any great need to have you like that and I don't want you thinking it's something you have to do for me," he says sincerely. 

"Don't you want to feel me the same way as I do when we're together?"

"It's not that." Al assures me, leaning in again and kissing the tip of my nose.

"What then?" 

"I don't want to hurt you." 

Al's voice is still calm, but he sounds more serious than I have heard him for a number of weeks. We talked about sex a lot when I first came home. But the subject, though well practiced isn't a topic for conversation much anymore. In light of what had happened today and as much as I wished it wasn't necessary I knew that needed to change.

"Do I hurt you Al?" I hadn't thought about the possibility for a long time and the idea that Al wouldn't say something if I had hurt him didn't seem possible. I'm so careful, surely I would know if he were in pain.

"No. It's always good Sam. I'd tell you if it wasn't." He informs me as the same hand that has been cupping my face strays back down my chest to my crotch. My erection has waned ever so slightly during our conversation and I can tell by the heat radiating from Al's, pressed against my thigh he wanted to get things moving again. 

"Now." He says, gently stroking me through the thin fabric of my shorts. "I think I need to remind you just how good it is." 

Before I can reply Al has pulled me forward and manoeuvred us so we are now lying across the bottom of the bed. Kissing me passionately while his hands move to the opening in the front of my shorts. His hand finally touching me is all the encouragement I need. 

"Time to lose these," he instructs, tugging at the waistband on my shorts.

My body responds to Al's ministrations and I assist him to remove my shorts and watch expectantly as he struggles out of his pyjama bottoms. Completely naked Al moves to kneel between my legs, pushing them up and apart. Bowing over me he kisses me once and then takes my cock in his mouth, licking and sucking at the crown before working his way downward. 

Using my hands to support my weight I hold myself up to watch as Al proves his point. Not that I ever doubted his ability to show me the pleasures of our physical relationship. Not since the very first night when he led me into my room, our room now and introduced me to this have I for a moment regretted my decision to finally accept what he had offered me many years before.

Watching Al handle me; taking me in his mouth is both beautiful and arousing. Before long there is a small pyre building between my legs, not quite as urgent as before but it is growing none the less. A wonderful free feeling spreading through me that I can barely contain and no longer want to. It is to strong; insisting I give into what is now very much a part of who I am. I open my legs further in hope of some release from the heat in my groin and lay back down on the bed. 

I have hardly touched Al but somewhere in a very small corner of my mind I know this is what he wants, is part of what he started with dinner and I should not question him or his motives any more tonight. 

Al steadily works his way over my lower body, kissing and licking, sucking and biting ever so carefully until his mouth and occasionally one or both of his hands on me are the only things that matter anymore.

The sensation of his tongue dragging over my testicles, toying with them and bathing them individually is pure heaven. A feeling that doesn't last unfortunately, but the loss is fleeting before another equally blissful level of pleasure is shown me and it is these new sensations that hold my attention as Al's tongue dips lower, lavishly painting the area below my scrotum. Carefully lifting my sack with one hand while he shifts one of my legs across his shoulders, sufficiently anchoring both of us in the position he wants. 

Bending to his goal Al takes his time to tease and taste this yet untouched part of my body. Even though I could move if I really wanted to, I don't. It is sweet anticipation of what may come next which hold me bonelessly still. 

Giving myself the same amount of time to adjust and enjoy what he is doing to me I wondered at Al patience and my body's willingness to accept the occasional invasion as he dips lower with his tongue and flicks tentatively at the crease between my backside.

I stifle my need for as long as I can, to speak, to say something to express the feelings Al's touch causes in me. He continues so carefully, licking and kissing me, caressing me in such a frightfully intimate way as he edges slowly closer to a place that holds such mystery and more than a little fear to me that it is almost impossible to stay silent. 

I have closed my eyes some time ago, shutting out everything around us and enjoying these moments together in the dark. Letting go of not only the little shadowy sights and hushed sounds in our room, but everything else that could interfere. It is not easy. The complete loss of control I feel now is indescribable, the total abandonment of what I have been taught is too much to sustain unspoken. I moan, once, loudly as the very tip of his tongue finally slips inside of me and I cannot hold back any longer. 

If it weren't for the firm hold Al has on the base of my engorged cock, I am sure I would have come from the luscious feeling alone. But he holds me still, adding enough pressure so that I don't. As I have suspected from the beginning Al then withdraws, kissing the inside of my thigh before easing my leg back down to the bed. 

"Don't stop." I whisper. A little afraid that I have been misunderstood. 

Al's head comes up slowly, pausing long enough to tell me to relax, gently soothing me with his hands and assuring me that he isn't quite finished yet. 

Picking up where he left off Al begins a new trail back up to my cock head. Paying attention to touch every inch, every tiny particle of flesh along the way of his slow sensuous journey until we are face to face again and I can feel his cock come to rest next to mine. 

"Are you okay?" He asks me, our eyes meeting in the dark.

I nod that I am, but only just, too close to answer in words. 

I watch Al as he raises himself up, using all the strength in his arms to hold his weight. My eyes have adjusted enough that I can see the level of concentration etched on his dear face, all the will power he is mustering to make this last. I reach up to touch his cheek, deeply moved by what he has already done for me, knowing that I am loved and cherished.

Al turns under my touch, his moist lips skimming my fingers before he closes his eyes and I know it's time. His movements are agonizingly slow to begin with, increasing in minute increments that coax me to mirror and to add to the movement. I hold Al's shoulders as he strains against me, panting his enjoyment as the tension in both our bodies reach their peaks and release is achieved.  
TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I check my watch again. It's getting late and I don't have the luxury of time to go searching the entire complex for a man who may or may not want to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see part one for the disclaimer and notes.

_**Sam** _

It is light when I wake alone in our bed, modestly covered by one of the sheets and shivering under the early morning breeze coming through the open window. Our quarters are silent and even before I call out to Al I know there will be no reply. My sleep-fogged mind remembers what day it is and I know exactly where my absent lover has gone. 

Three months as lovers and Al still refuses to bring any of his uniforms here. It doesn't matter that it would be more convenient, he'd rather go downstairs to change than have the two opposing sides of his life mesh with the other for even the time it would take the change his clothes. Not that I guess I'm any better. It's not like many people know about us, what we share now, I've only told Verbena and my family. And my family, as much as I love them probably could have been left off my short list. I sigh at the thought of my mother's silence on the other end of the phone line when I had told her about Al and I and the new development in our long friendship. I couldn't see her face but I know she was hurt. She only wanted me to be happy she had finally said, but I know she'd prefer I was happy with someone other than my best friend. It doesn't matter, I remind myself, because I am happy and Al is the reason that I am. I just wish he'd woken me before he left.

Stretching, I take hold of Al's abandoned pillow, hugging it close and inhaling the distinctive scent of its owner. Remembering how good he felt, smelt and tasted when we were wrapped around one another several hours ago. It's a very pleasant memory. Last night had been wonderful and I wanted to tell him so, needed to know more than anything right now that he held the same opinion. I released the pillow and sit up, at the same time reaching for the dishevelled comforter at the end of the bed, draping it around myself as I rise slowly and head for the bathroom.

\----*----

I eventually catch up with Al in the conference room set aside for the meeting that is planned for later this morning. He is, as I expected, dressed in his white uniform. He has his back turned to me, speaking quietly to Paul Sheppard when I enter the room. My disappointment of not finding Al alone is something I can barely conceal, but as the man spoiling my plans turns, announcing my arrival I have no choice but to bury my feelings for the time being.

"Good morning Doctor Beckett." 

"Hi, Paul," I manage, adding a friendly nod to the tall technician and then slip in beside Al. Carefully brushing against him as I lay my report for the committee on the bench in front of him.

"Good morning," I say quietly to Al. 

Al is waiting his turn to use the room's café bar. "Hey Sam, you're getting an early start," he comments casually and then adds, holding up an empty Styrofoam cup. "You want one of these?" 

"Sure, thanks." 

Al's tone of voice and body language is the same polite, easy-going manner he adopts when there are other members of the team around, so I know Paul's presence is the reason for his lack of anything more. Nothing about his behaviour, now or since my return, would indicate we were anything other than colleagues, good friends to those who know of our long association. The cover Al creates for himself, for us, is both convincing and infuriating to me. Especially at moments like this when we are standing so close that I could quite easily lean over and kiss him if I were so inclined, which I am, and I wish, not for the first time that things could be different for both of us. 

Paul collects his coffee and steps back, leaving me to stand patiently, if not a little awkwardly alongside Al as he prepares mine and passes it to me; our hands touching briefly as we make the exchange. Thanking Al I take the cup and bring it to my mouth, sipping the hot liquid cautiously, sparing a glance over my shoulder to the other occupant in the room. Paul has found his seat behind us at the far end of the long conference table and appears preoccupied for the time being with the papers and files spread out before him. 

Even though I am showered and dressed, equipped with all I will need for the upcoming meeting, my mind is on other things. Things that involve less clothing and a lot more privacy for the man standing next to me and myself. Seeing Al in his uniform, pristine, stark white and perfect as always, his hair neatly combed, the faintest whiff of his favoured cologne teasing my over sensitized nose. It's all such a contrast to how he had appeared the previous night and the temptation along with Al's close proximity is simply too much to resist.

"I enjoyed last night," I whisper to Al, confidant that my voice purposely low will only carry as far as it is intended. He has resumed preparations of his own coffee, but at my words all movement stops, the steady hand holding the small white cup stills in mid-air, wavering ever so slightly as Al tilts his head toward mine. "I missed you when I woke up." I add quickly, gathering my report and retreating before he can respond. 

I am fully aware that I have broken one, no two of Al's basic rules. Never discuss us while we are working and respect his uniform and what it represents. Of course with my back turned to him, juggling both my coffee and my report I can't see Al's reaction to my comments and frankly I don't want to. No one has heard us, Paul is still bent over his report when I take up my place a couple of seats away from his, reminding myself as I do that there is safety in numbers. And I keep my eyes carefully adverted when Al joins us a few moments later. There is no harm done, I tell myself, the world won't collapse around us.

It may have come a little later than I would have liked but I have taken the opportunity, the only opportunity I would most likely get before tonight to tell Al what I was disallowed this morning when he left our bed without waking me. 

Finally, I look up from the file I am not really reading and glance at the man sitting opposite. I am starting to feel a little nervous, but I also feel decidedly vindicated. 

Al is sipping his own coffee and regarding me thoughtfully. I grin at him; I can't help myself. There is nothing he can do with Paul here as a witness. Later will be a different story I know, but right now he will have to keep whatever reprimand he has in mind for me to himself. Al flashes me one of his 'you'll keep' looks and then opens his own report and proceeds to go over the text.

I'm still grinning when Al looks away, the smile on my face fading gradually until I can't think of a single reason why I thought putting Al in the position I had was amusing to begin with. My somewhat adolescent behaviour surprises me; I'm not generally this self-absorbed when it comes to Al's and my relationship. I understand the limits we have and are usually happy to stay within them. Homophobia even in the twenty first century is rampant, not only amongst the military but the private sector as well. My own misguided opinions on the subject of same sex relationships up to a few months ago are proof enough of that, I consider ashamedly. 

My self-recriminating contemplation is prematurely interrupted before I can fall too far into the well where my doubts regarding Al's and my relationship reside. Lately my ability to give him fully what he needs in a partner is an issue not too far from the surface of all my waking thoughts, but as the door of the conference room opens and Verbena steps inside they slip away again and I'm glad of the distraction which her timely appearance provides. 

Verbena greets us all warmly, and then after leaving her own small pile of papers and folders on the table moves graciously to the café bar on the other side of the room.

"Have we got a plan, Al?" Verbena inquires once she's seated herself beside my lover. 

"We always have a plan, Bena. No point dragging all our butts in here if we don't," Al informs her off-handily, his focus apparently still directed at the page in front of him.

Verbena's question and Al's somewhat flippant answer immediately raises the interest of Paul, sitting to my left, he has remained quiet since our initial greeting, seemingly fully absorbed in his own notes until now. His serious expression becoming increasing more perplexed as the banter between our two friends continues.

I can see the sparkle in Verbena eyes and the tiny smile Al's remarks have summoned in her, hidden carefully behind the cup she is holding. All evidence of which vanishes, along with any other signs of frivolity when the cup is lowered to the table.

"Well that's good then," She remarks calmly, opening the folder on the top of her reports. 

"What plan?" Paul finally asks, looking first to Al then Verbena, and lastly over at me. "Do we need a plan?"

I can sense Paul's puzzlement and I see the brief not quit readable exchange between Al and Verbena. Both remain serious, neither answering our head programmer's question. Obviously Paul's newness to the team at this level has limited his experience with such gatherings and he is painfully unaware of Al's rather odd humour when it comes to dealing with the committee members we are expecting. (Most commonly referred to as nozzles.) And Verbena's sometimes over indulgence of Al to let him run the Project like it was a lone ship at sea, heading it in his own unique way. 

"It's fine Paul, nothing to worry about." I explain, turning slightly toward him and hopefully assuring him. Realising that no one has bothered to inform him of the reason behind today meeting. "It's only a courtesy visit, to introduce the new member of the committee and give them an opportunity to have a look at the Project."

"And us," Al remarks, cutting me off before I can add anything more. 

"Don't forget that, Sam, they get to give us all the once over while they're here as well." 

Looking back over at Paul I can see Al had drowned out my few words of assurances. Whose unnecessary comments at this point would cause anxiety in even a seasoned worker of the Project and at that moment I had a strange feeling of Deja vu, reminiscent of the early days working with Al. With a few choice words and a subtle innuendo or two he could easily turn something as innocent as a visit from new colleagues into the Inquisition. I shake my head at Al to no avail. He is impossible, not even a glimmer of remorse evident on his set features. 

I spare a glance in Verbena's direction, looking for some support, a little back up, I guess. Only I find her quietly observing Al's and my exchange. She seems little surprised by Al's groundless teasing and perhaps, a little contemplative herself, I think.

Certainly it was not customary for the committee to travel to the Project, we are all aware of that. But on the other hand it wasn't unheard of either for the likes of Senator's Weitzman and McBride to pay an occasional visit. I wondered absently if maybe Al was feeling some reservations regarding the meeting, which we hadn't discussed yet. None of us knew for instance, other than the individual’s name, what the new committee member will be like. If they will be receptive to our combined goal or not, and I had to admit it was this element of the impending visit which had even myself feeling a little unsettled. 

We all watch as without preamble Al pushes back from the table and stands up. Carefully replacing the vacated chair to its position beneath the table and then as he slowly reaches inside his uniform jacket to remove a clear wrapped cigar from its depths. Preparing the Chivello and disposing of the debris in the wastepaper bin by the café bar. Returning to where we are all sitting he reaches across the table to retrieve his cap. Clearly he is planning on stepping outside before the rest of the meetings participants arrive. 

"You mentioned a plan, Al?" Paul asks, putting end to the long moments of silence in the room and prompting an answer to his original question. Seemingly reminding us all that indeed we always did have a proven method of dealing with whatever the Project's committee throws at us, no matter it was.

Al was already moving towards the door, cap planted firmly on his head and his hand reaching to open the closed door. He stops however, turning briefly to regard the man eagerly waiting to be let in on how we, the already assembled members of the team intend to approach the forthcoming meeting.

"It's simple," Al replies, his tone of voice infinitely confident. "Sam amazes them with his intellect and you, Verbena and I dazzle them with whatever bullshit we can come up with." The unlit cigar held loosely between Al's fingers while he has been speaking to Paul is then placed firmly between his teeth and without another word or time for any more questions he opens the door and disappears out into the corridor.

I smile at Al's bravado despite the uncertainty, which awaits, and will in varying degrees affect us all. Al's ability to play it cool in front of others has always been one of his most valuable assets. His hasty retreat today though seems unusual, even taking in to account his more eccentric behaviour of late. I want to follow him, I know he's only gone to his office or perhaps the surface to smoke his cigar in peace and most likely would prefer to left alone, but I feel responsible. Not because we are more than friends, but because with everything else aside, we still are friends. 

Verbena and Paul continued to discuss Al's tried and true method of dealing with the committee. I listen a little, confident that without Al here to interfere Verbena would be able to reduce much of the other man's anxiety. My mind wandering from time to time while I waited for a chance when I could leave them alone and find Al. Overhearing Verbena explain to Paul how over the many years she has worked with Al and his approach of always showing a collected front had seen the Project not only hold its funding, but also ensure confidence amongst the staff was something she had never experienced anywhere else in her career. At least ten minutes passed before the opportunity came and I discreetly excused myself.

My destination was never in question; I'm headed for Al's office, which is located one level up from the conference room we have both exited. Passing two separate department heads on my journey, both going in the direction from whence I had come. Checking my watch, I realise the morning had gotten away from us and there was now less than an hour before the meeting was scheduled to begin. 

Lengthening my stride, I make it to Al's office in only a few minutes. The door of which is firmly closed but not locked I discover when I try to open it. I expect to find Al behind his desk or perhaps relaxing on the small sofa he keeps in his office, a remnant from my days of leaping he tells me. But the small room is in darkness when I enter and even before I switch on the light I know it is also empty. Al is not here which could only mean one or two things, he has either gone to the surface as an alternative or he does not want to be found at the moment. 

I stand for a moment, deciding what I will do next, glancing around the empty office of my lover. Everything is in order, the desk and other furniture are all government supplied but there are several pictures and certificates adorning the drab grey walls and number of personal items on the desk which I approach, giving at least the minimal appearance of comfort. Carefully extracting the framed photograph of Al and myself from the desk surface I notice a number of closed files, clearly marked classified piled neatly to one side. I ignore them for the time being in preference to what I hold in my hands. It's an old snapshot of the two us, taken I judge from both our more youthful appearances, a few months before I stepped into the accelerator chamber and changed both our lives permanently. I sigh at the memories that come unbidden, reminding me of my foolishness both past and current and return the photo to its resting-place.

I check my watch again. It's getting late and I don't have the luxury of time to go searching the entire complex for a man who may or may not want to be found.

There is another way however to check on Al and I take advantage of it without delay as I address the ceiling, speaking literally to thin air. "Ziggy" 

"Yes Doctor Beckett. How can I assist you?"

"Locate Admiral Calavicci for me please," I request, leaning against the corner of Al's desk. My attention is caught once again by the short stack of folders near my hip. Picking up the file on the top of pile I open and proceed to read its content, wondering as I do, why Al has a not only a complete professional but personal profile on our newest committee member. Information, which he has chosen for whatever reasons, not to share with the rest of us. 

Only a few seconds pass before I have an answer to my question regarding Al's whereabouts but it is long enough for me to discover that Al has a history with the woman we are expecting and this too is something he has neglected tell anyone. I don't know what I feel or think at that moment, a mixture or confusion and anger again. The same array of emotions that fill me lately on an all too frequent basis when it comes to dealing Al and his lack of honesty toward me. 

Ziggy has informed me Al is presently greeting our early arrivals from the committee and I thank the hybrid computer and prepare to leave, closing the file on Senator Stewart and returning it to Al's desk. I know I should make my way back to the conference room as soon as possible and add my support to the others. Perhaps when I meet Al's mystery woman, I think switching off the light on my way out of his office, I will have a better idea on why her reappearance in his life is something he has felt he must keep secret. And then later, after our guests are gone, I may even find out why he feels he has to keep secrets from me at all.

\----*----

The conference room is filled almost to capacity with visiting committee members and their respective entourages when I arrive. The sounds of conversation filtering out into the corridor as I stand and watch for a moment in the open doorway. My presence immediately drawing the attention of Verbena who appears to be cornered by Senator Weitzman, she lifts a hand in my direction systematically announcing my arrival and putting end to whatever line of questioning she is being subjected to. 

Senator Weitzman's voice is unmistakable in any situation and always seems to demand a certain amount of regard. He greets me pleasantly, striding to meet me when I step into the room, offering his hand and shaking mine vigorously. 

"It's good to see you Doctor Beckett. I've just been asking Doctor Beeks where you were," he says, all eyes in the room turning toward us. Verbena who I can see behind him smiles, obviously relieved by my appearance. 

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you Senator, but I trust Verbena has explained why I was unavoidably delayed," I tell him, lying, but also knowing she would have already come up with some perfectly acceptable explanation for my absence. 

"Yes of course. We are a little ahead of schedule however, so it is perhaps I who should be apologising."

"Well we're all here now so perhaps this would be a good time start," I prompt gently, noting Weitzman's uncommon awkwardness. It's not like him to be this congenial and I had to admit I didn't have the slightest interest in finding out why this usually robust man was suddenly treating me as he was, preferring to get the meeting and tour over as soon as possible. 

"Fine, Doctor whenever you're ready." This said as the tall man stepped aside, gesturing to one of his assistants. 

I lost sight of Weitzman for a few minutes while I made my way around the table, stopping to gather my report and move to where Al was standing. "Ready or not," I whispered close to his ear, turning my back on the rest of the room.

Al didn't answer, not that I thought he would, there too many people watching both of us and for the briefest of moments Al's earlier warning never seemed so accurate. He nodded seriously and then took his seat at the end of the table; the room falling silent moments later and without further provocation those still standing found a place to sit.

\----*----

Relatively speaking the meeting, including the several reports from the various department heads went very smoothly. Paul relaxed enough to deliver his own report and answer the questions directed at him without incidence. For myself I found my thoughts wandered occasionally. Feeling more preoccupied then I would have liked with what I'd found in Al's office. It was another example of his resistance to share fully with me the issues that arose from his past. His behaviour yesterday and what I had witnessed were still unsolved. Last night had not just been a pleasant way to reconnect after our miscommunication, but one more in a long line of diversions, which he created to avoid dealing with our problems. Something had to give, I wasn't sure what, only that as far as Al and I were concerned there was far too much hanging over us that wasn't being discussed.

Senator Donna Stewart, the woman for who this visit to the Project had been arranged sat mostly silent through the proceedings. She was certainly what her profiles described; intelligent, charming and extremely well informed in regards to the Project's accomplishments and goals. Nothing about her manner indicated she would be opposed to the continuation of the research we were involved with, but I had the distinct feeling each time I spoke to her that she felt very uncomfortable about being here. I had put her initial discomfort down to the fact that she was new, that the long flight from Washington had been tiring. But I had to rethink those earlier assumptions as the day progressed and it became impossible to misinterpret the attention Diane McBride paid to both of us.

I wouldn't have thought Senator McBride would play matchmaker to anyone, but that had clearly been her intention. Pointing out whenever she and I were separated from the main group the similar interests Senator Stewart and I shared. Citing quantum physics, age and other less memorable factors such as current marital status as good reasons for Donna Stewart and I to spend time together in the future. I know I was a little surprised and embarrassed by Diane's forthright behaviour so I could only imagine the woman at the centre of all the attention must have felt some of the same. 

To end it, hopefully once and for all, as soon as the necessary agenda items had been covered and the tour completed I had pulled Diane aside and explained even though it wasn't public knowledge I was involved with someone. Of course she had endless questions about with whom I was involved but I managed to evade them, feeling somewhat unsure of the depth of what I described to the woman so keenly interested in my love life. Al had never been far from my side during the day and he had, I don't doubt, witnessed much of the interactions between both women and myself, but his detached front had been firming intact the whole time and he said nothing to aid me. Not once showing any signs of jealousy or concern. 

Donna had announced quite early on that she had met Al and worked with him for a short period of time many years before. Not going into any great detail of that time and simply explaining that it had been just prior to my arrival at The Star Bright Project. They had not been overly good days in my friend's life and anyone who had known Al then would have been painfully aware of that. It had been out of politeness I realised that no more had been said on the subject and for that I was very grateful to her.

Finally, we farewelled our guests and the entire Project breathed a collective sigh of relief. The majority of those who had attended the notable gathering went about their business the moment the hired cars pulled away from the gravelled driveway. But it was Al, Verbena, Paul and myself who stood quietly after the others had gone, waiting until all the vehicles disappeared completely, even going so far as to wait that few extra minutes while the dust settled. 

"That wasn't so bad," Paul announced, turning to go back inside. Sounding as if he actually believed what he had said. 

Al looked amused and turned to follow; quickly falling into step with Paul and adding his own thoughts on the day's outcome. "Nah, piece of cake, kid. Put it down to experience and remember we walked away, and that's what counts. If you’re still standing and you get to walk to away, you win." 

Verbena and I watched both men walk back toward the main building, clear the outer doors and transcend the interior steps before either of us added any comments of our own.

"He's right you know Sam, all things considered I would say today can only be seen as a successful start to what will hopefully be a long and fruitful relationship with Senator Stewart. And if her effect on Senator Weitzman is any indication of her influence amongst the other committee members then I think communication between parties will be something we can all look forward to," Verbena said, raising a suggestive eyebrow in my direction.

Taking Verbena gently by her elbow I turned us both away from the main entrance and toward the quarters I shared with Al.

"I take it you noticed that Senator McBride thought we'd make a nice couple then?" I inquired, rolling my eyes a little at what Verbena was suggesting as I walked her slowly in the direction I was headed. 

"Well it wouldn't hurt to encourage friendly relations, Sam. And you are, as Senator McBride reminded me, very eligible." She smiles shyly, but doesn't add anything else thankfully in regards to Senator McBride's apparent mission to 'fix me up'. 

"Do you mind telling me where we're going? I do have work to do you know." She informs me as we round the cinder block wall that provides a small amount of privacy to the exterior of my quarters. 

"I'm making a pot of tea and I thought you'd like to join me; you do don't you?" I ask stopping to see that Verbena is actually willing to come with me.

She shrugs slightly but doesn't argue, a gesture I take as her consent and I lead her the rest of the way of our short journey and through the open balcony doors to my living room.

"Make yourself at home; I'll put the kettle on." I say once we are both inside, leaving Verbena alone for a few moments while I settle things in the kitchen.

"There only one small problem with what Diane has in mind for Donna Stewart and myself, Verbena, I'm not eligible. At least not from where I stand anyway. I don't know about Al; you'd have to ask him." I inform the woman now comfortably seated on the same sofa I had occupied yesterday when Al and I had tried to discuss, amongst other things what had happened out at the house.

Verbena with all her intuitiveness understood me probably better at that moment then I did myself. I could see it in her dark eyes; she knew, much if not all of the problems Al and I faced and if only I could understand then maybe there was chance for us. I felt so unsure, so afraid I guess that I was what the rest of the world perceived me to be. A middle aged bachelor who had gotten lost and who accepted the first declaration of love as a new way of life. 

Reaching toward me I let Verbena draw me down to sit beside her, allowing the comforting arm she offered to slid around my shoulders as I rested very briefly against her. Pulling back, I don't try to hide any of what has stayed buried for much of the past couple of days. 

"I need your help." I say.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He does love you," I tell him honestly. My statement, sufficient to draw him out of his quiet contemplation. Turning towards me Sam nods slowly, although I'm not convinced he actually believes me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for the disclaimer and notes.

_**Verbena** _

It's been several weeks since I have seen Sam as obviously troubled as he appears now. Not since the debriefing we had both endured when he leaped home has there been even the slightest glimpse of anything akin to the pain that is so clearly defined in his handsome face at this moment.

Offering him my closest hand I managed to get him to sit down and allow me to comfort him. It's not for very long however and all too soon he is pulling back, requesting my help.

"Of course Sam, whatever you need." I tell him, releasing him carefully so that he could sit back and compose himself in the small space we shared.

"Thanks," he says shyly, and then a moment later falls silent. 

Once the request has been made Sam seems a little embarrassed by his own need for my assistance. He is quiet now, scrubbing his face occasionally and wiping at damp eyes. Being a psychiatrist, it's an occupational hazard unfortunately, to have that effect on others, inadvertently making them uncomfortable by being, in their eyes, the one necessary to assist them. Even if the individual in question is a close friend, and technically that's all we are here, I remind myself. Two friends enjoying each other's company after a long and tiresome day. It doesn't change the fact that most, if not all adults experience a small degree of difficulty when it comes to asking for help of a psychological nature and Sam is no different. He may be extremely intelligent, a genius, but he is still only human. He has taken the first step by asking, now he only needs to feel safe enough to continue.

The kettle whistles loudly in the kitchen and I rise to stop the relentless sound coming from the other room, motioning to Sam to stay where he is. He doesn't argue with me and I leave him alone, hopefully giving him an extra few minutes to gather his thoughts.

The teapot, cups and saucers are already set out on a small serving tray on the kitchen bench when I go to turn off the kettle. There is also a small milk jug waiting to be added to the tray nearby and I fill it along with the teapot and place both items carefully on the tray and carry it back to the living room.

Sam stands immediately to help me make a space on the coffee table, apologizing profusely for not getting up earlier to help me. 

"Don't be silly, Sam, It's only a pot of tea. I'm sure I can manage," I tell him, shooing him back toward the sofa and his seat to which he recedes and sits down.

Joining Sam on the sofa I lean forward and turn the teapot gently, adding a little extra help to the settling process. "It shouldn't take long, and then I'll play mother shall I?" I say, receiving a small grin, somewhat forced I think, and a nod of agreement.

"I'm glad you're here Verbena," Sam says quietly as I pour a small amount of milk into each cup.

"So am I, Sam. I've always been happy to be where I'm needed. It's never mattered to me whether it be on a consistent basis or just every now and again."

The man sitting beside me seems to know what I'm getting at. Always keen he reaches across the small space between us and takes one of my hands in his. "You're a good friend, Verbena," he tells me. 

Accepting the compliment as graciously as one can, I squeeze his hand firmly and then release it, leaning a little further forward to pour us both a cup of the brewed tea.

"So," I say casually, handing Sam his cup and then retrieving my own from the tray. "Tell your good friend how she can help?"

Sam doesn't respond to my question, but I note he does appear more relaxed then he did a few minutes ago. Settled back against the arm of the sofa we are sharing, slowly sipping his tea, his eyes closed as he enjoys the refreshment. He reminds me of my great Aunt Martha on my mother's side. Great Aunt Martha always swore by tea as a remedy for what ails you. It didn't matter what it was, a good pot of tea would see a light at the end of any dark tunnel she would always say. It would be wonderful if she were right, I think a little nostalgically. If all Sam's problems could be fixed that easily then my job would be already be finished here. Sadly, I know that whatever it is that he needs my help with, a cup of tea will only be a small part of the solution.

Sipping my own tea quietly, I too take the opportunity to settle back and relax. Contemplating the long day and occasionally sparing a glance at my silent companion. I'm at two minds now with Sam. I am not sure if I should prompt him to talk or just let him be, leaving his options open if he should change his mind later on.

"I'm confused, Verbena," Sam finally says, opening his eyes and transferring his cup and saucer from his lap to balance them on his knee; straightening his posture as he speaks.

"What are you confused about, Sam?" I ask gently, altering my own position so that we are more or less facing one another.

"A lot of things, I guess, mostly about Al's and my relationship. I don't know where I stand with him anymore. I used to think it was just us getting use to one another again, but I'm not sure if it's about that either," he says, shaking his head sadly. "The bottom line, Verbena, is I honestly don't know if being with me is what he really wants."

"Oh Sam what makes you think Al doesn't want to be with you? Has he said that he wants to end the relationship?" I am completely surprised by what Sam is telling me. I know that Al has expressed concerns, but to date he hasn't given me any indication that he would leave Sam.

"No. He hasn't said anything exactly. But it's something that's been building for a while now. Little things mostly, like he disappears on me and then when he comes back it’s like nothing’s happened. He closes himself off from me and I can't seem to get through to him." The dejection in Sam voice is almost heart breaking; he pauses for a moment, using his free hand to run his fingers through his hair before speaking again.

"Yesterday I took him out to the house and he behaved like I'd committed a crime by not telling him about it first." Sam pauses again, obviously still hurt by Al's negative reaction to his surprise. "We had an argument about it," he finishes dryly.

"I see." And I did. I had spent an hour with Al yesterday after he and Sam had returned from the house discussing, amongst other things the argument Sam is referring to.

"I realise I should have consulted him before I bought the house Verbena, but I was excited about it and I wasn't thinking beyond having a place of our own. I thought Al would appreciate us having some privacy."

"But he wasn't appreciative?" I ask.

"No. Did Al tell you about it?"

"He mentioned it," I answer, not going into the details of the conversation I had shared with Al the previous day. But from Sam's expectant expression he has already concluded that I have been privy to much more.

"Did he also mention that he knew Senator Stewart?"

I shake my head, no.

"You see, I don't understand that Verbena, we all had concerns about her but he didn't say a word about knowing her. It's difficult enough that Al keeps things from me let alone from the team."

I had heard the Senators introductory speech along with everyone else present at the meeting and the fact that she and Al had worked together before had come as a bit of an unexpected surprise, but only until it was made apparent when that time had actually been. However, Sam's insistence that Al had purposely kept relevant information from us seemed to be something of an issue with him and I wasn't quite sure why that was.

"That could have been because Al was drinking pretty heavily back then and it's very possible he didn't make the connection." I offer, as what I consider the most plausible explanation.

"Well that would make sense, I guess, except when I went looking for him this morning I found a complete profile on her in his office. Every detail of Donna Stewart's life, Verbena, was included. Everything from where she went to school, where her mother lives, how her husband died. Her transition from quantum physic to politics, right down to the last time she renewed her driver's license. Al knew all of that and for God only knows what reason, he decided not to tell anyone."

I remain unmoved by what Sam is telling me, attempting to not get caught up in his suspicions. Though I could understand his curiosity and at least some of his frustration. It certainly appeared that he had every right to be annoyed with Al for an admission such as the one he had just described. Privately I had my own thoughts on the subject, promising myself that over the next day or so I needed to make it a priority to find a few minutes alone with Al Calavicci so I could ask him for myself what his game was. He had behaved quite oddly this morning, more than what I have come to expect before he has to meet with the committee. The teasing he had subjected Paul to, too seemed abnormally serious, even by Al's standard. I had put most of his anxiety down to what we had discussed yesterday, not sure if he and Sam had an opportunity to resolve their argument or what the outcome of his disclosure had been. Now though, it seemed my assumptions had been seriously misplaced.

"Did you ask Al about what you found?" I ask Sam, keeping the topic of conversation on track.

"There wasn't time."

"Then perhaps you should ask him about it, most likely he has a perfectly reasonable explanation," I try to sound objective, appealing to Sam's rational nature.

"It's more than just what he doesn't tell me, Verbena." Sam's voice has taken on a more disappointed tone now; opposed to the confused and angrier one's I had been hearing. I feel somewhat responsible for that disappointment even though all my training and years of practice tell me that's not right, unprofessional. Realistically I know I'm not responsible for how others feel, their particular circumstances, or the life choices they make. All that aside, it doesn't change the way I feel.

I place my finished tea on the low table next to the tray and reach over and carefully stroke Sam's arm just below his shoulder. 

"Sometimes," Sam starts slowly, crossing himself as he covers my hand with one of his own. Letting me know without words that he's okay and the gesture to comfort has been noted. "It's like Al is two different people, living two different lives and I'm only allowed in one them, and then only under certain conditions."

"How so?" I inquire, drawing my hand away and settling it on the back of the sofa.

"When it's just us, Al's okay. He doesn't want anyone to know about us until he retires and I understand why. The Navy has been Al's life, he wants to be able to close that chapter and move on when he's ready, and not have to give it up because of their outdated thinking. We have to be careful around here as well and I'm okay about that. Usually, when we're alone Al will make up for what we don't get to do when you or any of the others are around."

I smile at Sam's inclusion of myself in regards to the apparent cramping of his and Al's style. It’s understandable really when I stop to think about it. I certainly wouldn't want to be in his position. Being in love and not being able to tell anyone about it would leave me feeling pretty cramped also.

"Over the last week or so Al's started spending more time by himself." Sam continues, seemingly aware of my reaction to what he has told me. "It's almost as if he's distancing himself from me, but I don't know why. He is hiding things from me. Not just that he knew Senator Stewart but other things, things about us, personal things. I try to ask him about them, but he either changes the subject or like he did yesterday, he turns everything around so I don't know whether I'm coming or going. He says he loves me, but he won't tell me what's going on for him…he treats me like I couldn't possibly understand whatever it is, and shuts me out."

"Is that how you feel Sam, shut out?"

"Yes."

"Have you told Al that's how you feel?"

"Not really. I have asked him if he's happy with me…am I enough. But all I get is…" Sam's words fade. What he was about to say, obviously thought better of for the moment.

It's apparent to me now that Al had not spoken to Sam about his needs. I had thought yesterday that he had decided different, that he loved Sam enough to trust him with his secret. The realisation that he hadn't saddens me greatly. God knows Al and I have discussed the possible repercussions of keeping it from Sam often enough. Spoken at length in fact about how sooner or later Sam would sense Al's dissatisfaction and he would undoubtedly have questions, or worse, begin to doubt himself. And by the looks of the grim faced man momentarily staring off into space my conclusions had not been too far from the mark.

"He does love you," I tell him honestly. My statement, sufficient to draw him out of his quiet contemplation. Turning towards me Sam nods slowly, although I'm not convinced he actually believes me.

It's a worrying situation, both for Sam and Al. Neither it seems is dealing with the unresolved issues they have unwittingly brought from their respective pasts and the consequences of this are clearly hampering the possibilities for them to find peace in the future. 

Choosing my words with care I endeavour to give Sam as much insight into his lover as I am able given my position as therapist and friend.

"I can't say too much in regards to what Al is going through at the moment and I know you understand why. As you're aware, officially Al is seeing me for post-traumatic shock disorder, unofficially you are also aware that during the last year of his imprisonment Al suffered from the effects of the lesser known condition of Stockholm syndrome."

Sam regards me suspiciously as I speak, and frankly, listening to myself I can fully understand why. This is where having a personal relationship with the men and women you treat is a definite draw back.

"Our doctor patient relationship precludes me disclosing anything Al and I discuss during those sessions without his permission." I inform him.

"I know that, Verbena. I wouldn't ask you to break Al's confidence." Sam is obviously taken back that I would even consider that a possibility. I know he wouldn't do such a thing, but it is necessary that we are clear on what we can discuss in regards to Al.

"I just wish I had some kind of clue about how I should feel right now, because I don't." He adds sighing heavily and shaking his head. "I want us to be good together, that's all, and we can't have that if he doesn't trust me."

"I know, honey. I know," I explain gently and then carefully remove the tea cup still resting on Sam's knee from his loose hold on it and place it next to my own on the table. Sitting back, I shift a little closer and lace my arms around him, pulling him close. Sam moves willingly, turning into the embrace, his head slipping down to my shoulder with guidance to relax in the circle of my arms.

"It's difficult to have a relationship without trust, but trust doesn't come easily to all of us Sam. Time and familiarity helps," I tell him, lifting his hair away from his face. "This new part of your relationship with Al pushes at a lot of boundaries for both of you. Perhaps you could look at what they are and how they are affecting the way you interact with one another now opposed to how you used to." 

Sam's head comes up, not overly comfortable in the awkward position for very long. His expression slightly less confused then before. "Are you saying I should treat him how I use to…before we became involved?"

I am noncommittal, shrugging slightly and easing him back so that we can look at each other again. Kicking my shoes off once Sam is settled and drawing my legs up under me, mirroring his present position.

"I'm saying that if you had thought Al was keeping things from you before, you wouldn't have let a day go by before you found out what it was. You and Al have been friends for twenty years Sam, it's a long time to not have worked out a few ground rules. I understand you feel that things are different now, but some things are still the same." 

"A lot of it is very different, Verbena," Sam interjects. "The sex complicates so much between us." Sam holds my gaze as he speaks. It is not something he has been very comfortable with when it comes to talking about the more intimate side of his relationship with Al. That gesture coupled with the urgency in his voice alerting me to a possibility I hadn't considered for a very long time.

"It's what confuses me the most," he adds more calmly, looking away.

"You don't want a physical relationship with Al?" I query, hesitantly.

"Yes, I do. Very much, I didn't think I would, but it’s part of who we are now. It's right," he returns defensively and then falls quiet, realising his own response hasn't fooled either of us.

"Are there problems there for you Sam?" I feel lousy asking. I already know Sam is doubting his abilities to satisfy Al but I am also starting to wonder if there is more perhaps and Al's recent treatment of Sam has pushed him too far.

I can almost see Sam turning his answer over in his mind. Seeing first hand as he struggles with something that has changed not only how he views himself, but also how he believes other's view him. The difficulty he is facing, has faced, since his return is enormous. Latent homosexuality is a part of Sam Beckett's life, a very real part. Until recently he believed himself to be a different man to the one who has taken up a sexual relationship with his best friend and much of his confusion I believe is about his role in that aspect of their relationship.

"I love Al," he begins slowly. "I've never been overly good at relationships; mostly I didn't have a lot of time to spend on developing anything that would last. Al's and my friendship is the only relationship that I knew I would want to. When he said he was in love me it frightened me to start with. I knew what it would mean, what we'd eventually end up doing."

Sam's face is flushing slightly; obviously embarrassed by the topic I decide not to interrupt him and am relieved when after only a short pause does he pick up where he left off.

"I liked it, too much, I think. Because I remember feeling so totally lost the first time Al kissed me. It was like he knew things about me that I didn't. I had to trust him, I knew that, but it took a lot of doing. It wasn’t until I came home did I finally let it happen and I think by that time Al wasn't sure if he could trust me." Sam tilts his head a little in my direction, lifting his eyes to mine.

"It's been good… Al's very patient and careful not to push me. I appreciate that he knows more than I do. The first few times I was very grateful that at least one of us knew what we were doing, because as much as I wanted to be with him, it was all pretty scary." This said with a very shy grin, emanating more from self-consciousness then humour I think.

I return Sam's smile, affirming his honesty. "I can understand that couldn't have been easy for you. Sometimes trying something new can be scarier than doing nothing at all. Going for what you want rather than settling for what you know takes great courage, Sam." 

"I want to make this work between us Verbena, but he's still treating me as if I'm made of glass. It's been three months, I'm not afraid anymore. I won't just up and leave if it's not wonderful every time. If I'm doing something that's not right, then all he has to do is tell me. I'm not completely inexperienced, but he..."

"But he what, Sam? What is it?" I prompt.

A few tense moments pass before Sam actually answers me. "He won't let me…do…things…for him and yesterday…" His words come out awkwardly and he fades on me again. His gaze cast downward once more.

We both know what happened yesterday, what Sam had witnessed. I can only imagine what he'd seen must have been terribly confusing for him. I also know from what Al has already told me that Sam had tried to broach the subject with him. Sam obviously suspects something, I'm not sure exactly what that is though, and after a short deliberation while he is gathering himself I decide it would be best if I don't try to steer him in any particular direction.

"Take it slow Sam, it’s okay," I tell him, stroking the hair on his now slightly bowed head. "I know this isn't easy for you, but I do want to be able to help if I can. Okay." I receive a slow nod from Sam for my effort and once more he straightens, a clear expression of gratitude shinning in his sad eyes.

"I know about what Al went through in Vietnam," he informs me soberly. "Al told me about the feelings he had for the man who ran the camp, what he did to him. I also know that Al thought that things were different to what they were. That man brutalized him, Verbena and he still has the scars. I thought that was why he was so insistent that everything between us was gentle, that he knew what it was like to be hurt and he didn't want to do anything that would hurt or frighten me."

"That's understandable Sam, as I said, he loves you and for Al that equates to protecting you from whatever he thinks may cause you pain."

Sam listens to what I have to say, regarding me quizzically.

"I don't need protecting, not from Al. He wouldn't hurt me."

"No he wouldn't intentionally hurt you Sam, I agree with you. But as you know Al suffered a great deal when he was a P.O.W, not just physically but emotionally also. The scars on his body don't even come close to the ones that can't been seen, he may be trying to protect you from them," I explain slowly.

"But I already know that Al thought he was in love with Tran. That he did things he wasn't proud of," Sam tells me. "Al knows that Verbena. I also know that there were other men, since Tran. None of that matters to me, I just need him to trust me, to tell me what I can do."

I nod slowly; a little surprised that he and Al have spoken of the other men in Al's past, and I wonder in passing if Sam knows of the purpose they served. The honesty in Sam voice is extremely impressive, so impressive in fact, that there is no need for me to say I know or that I understand what he is telling me. His pure unwavering belief that Al's past indiscretions, no matter what they were, is truly inspiring. I wished Al could hear him right now, hear the understanding and acceptance that has always been there from Sam's prospective. Maybe it would make both their lives a little easier if they could let go of their respective fears long enough to sit down and really listen to one another; hear what I hear each time I speak with either one of them in regards to the other.

I can't help myself; I shake my head slowly at the wasted time we have all spent dancing around a subject that should be something to be cherished and celebrated, but sadly only seems to cause them both such unnecessary distress.

"Sex for someone who has been in Al's position can have quite a discernible effect on how they behave in a truly intimate relationship like the one he has with you," I say calmly. Fully aware I need to be very careful what I say from now on so that I don't give Sam the impression that I am only referring to Al.

"For survivors of abuse, anything sexual could stand as a reminder of the time when they were abused and in some cases, make it difficult to separate the circumstance in which the intimacy happens."

Sam doesn't comment, he is attentive, apparently absorbing what I am saying as general information, something for which I am heartily grateful. I wonder as I pause for a moment what he is thinking, but I don't ask; remaining confidant that if he has questions he will let me know. His bluntness this afternoon has certainly made up for the short periods of shyness he has displayed and I have no reservations in simply letting him be, fielding questions when they arise.

"Long term abuse can be the most damaging Sam," I begin again. "That's not to say that even one incident of violation doesn't also have long lasting effects on an individual but in cases that are ongoing for any extended period of time it can cause severe and sometimes reversible psychological changes."

"What sort of changes Verbena? Are you saying that someone whose been abused could be confused about sex or what constitutes sexual abuse even after the abuse has ended?" Sam inquires seriously.

"That would depend on what your definition of sexual abuse was Sam. Some behaviours in consenting relationships are perfectly harmless. Others however could be viewed by someone who has been forced into certain acts as demeaning or indeed abusive, the survivor may refuse to participate altogether or alternately make a request to receive stimulation in that way."

I can see by the glimmer of recognition reflected back at me that at least some of what I have said is making sense to Sam. Hopefully it will be enough to alleviate much of his anxiety and he will approach Al with any other questions he may have in regards to his behaviour.

It has been a fine line that I have been walking this afternoon in respects to my professional position but I feel relieved that Sam and I were able to speak as we have. My own relief however is short lived. Something else in Sam's eyes tell me there is more and as I'm aware that there is, a lot more in fact, I need to make a decision on whether or not I am going to be able to answer him.

"Could someone who has been forced to…do…things…like Al was…could that change their perception so much that they could…miss the …abuse…If there'd been…confusion during…that time?" Sam asks apprehensively, his arms folded protectively across his chest, protecting his heart, I think as I watch him. His eyes carefully adverted again so that the words could actually be spoken.

My own heart goes out to him; he looks so frightened, waiting for me to say something, as if my answer, should I decide to give it, could actually make a difference. I can understand Sam's fears. What he has been going through since he and Al became involved. But he knows the answer to his question already; has known or at least suspected for some time now I imagine. I know by giving him a verbal reply I would only be clarifying what he had deduced himself. Only for Sam, having a clear answer doesn't solve the difficulty of dealing with a lover who won't trust him to accept all of his past and the facets of that past which have undoubtedly shaped the man he is today. I make my decision, I cannot bring myself to leave Sam alone with his answer and no explanation for why this most basic of all survival instincts manifests itself in this way.

"Yes Sam, it's possible," I tell him. "The human mind will compensate for vast changes in circumstances, will adjust so that what was once considered unacceptable, let’s say as an example, could be thought as acceptable for the period of change. Sometimes the mind will experience difficulties afterwards and the effects on the individual can be an integration of the two ways of thinking. The old and new, or necessary. It's a coping mechanism; something in built which allows survival under extreme circumstances and may, if we can believe the research, actually add to the survival of the spirit." 

Sam lifts his head slowly, still not quite meeting my eyes, nodding his acknowledgment to what I have said, but saying nothing himself. I doubt I have actually reassured him a great deal this afternoon. I do believe however whatever he now does with the information he has; he has a better understanding of what he faces with Al.

After a moment of what I can only imagine as silent consideration Sam shifts his position, straightening his long legs and turning to face forward. Pausing briefly before reaching over and tentatively testing the temperature of the teapot.

"I'm going to make another pot Verbena," he announces drawing his hand away and then immediately taking hold of both sides of the tea tray, lifting it as he stands. "This one has gone cold," he adds, glancing down at me. He appears remarkably resolved I think.

One element, which has remained abundantly clear this afternoon has been Sam's wish to continue his relationship with Al. For the time being I can do no more than I have to ensure he doesn't take the full responsibility for what Al is going through completely upon himself, though I truly wish it were different. I wish I could tell Sam his lover's idiosyncrasies should not reflect on his abilities to satisfy either one of them. That their love for each other had already transcended time and space and not to give into Al's methodology to push him away. If anyone could give Al the security he needs, Sam could.

"Okay Sam," is all I say aloud.

I watch my tall friend then quietly manoeuvre his way around the coffee table and walk toward the kitchenette, tray in hand. He has only crossed half the distance when the door to the quarters he shares with Al slides open, stopping him mid stride and the man himself steps inside.

Al has changed his clothes since I saw him last, no longer dressed in his handsome white uniform he appears now wearing a striking combination of red and black, his scarlet and somewhat battered fedora perched on top of his head. He smiles at Sam, apparently not noting my presence immediately.

"Hi, love. I was wondering where you got to…" I see Al's dark eyes flicker, his peripheral vision finally taking me and within seconds those same dark eyes settle on me, bringing his affectionate greeting to an abrupt end.

"Hello Verbena." Al offers. "So you two have been hiding out have you?" He comments, removing his fedora and placing it along with the folder he is carrying on the small entrance table near the door.

"Hi Al," I return, casually. Adjusting my posture and slipping my shoes back on. I have no intention of staying any longer with Sam now that Al has arrived home for the day. I glance at my wristwatch to check the time, surprised that is as late as is, realising we've been talking for nearly an hour and it almost six o'clock.

"Verbena and I are having tea, would you like coffee?" Sam states, pausing for an answer from the man standing a little uncomfortably, I think, by the door.

"Sure." Al replies, still regarding me closely as I stand up.

"I won't stay, Sam. Thanks, I didn't realise it was as late as it is. I want to slip down to my office for a while before I call it a day," I explain to him.

I receive a slow nod and a small but strained smile from Sam as he turns briefly to face me. "Okay, I'll talk to you later then." He says and then disappears into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Al. 

"Is everything okay, Verbena?" he asks as soon as Sam is out of sight, moving towards me and lowering his voice. "Sam looks a little…tired."

"It's been a long day. He probably is tired Al, best to have an early night, you both could do with that." I suggest, moving away from the sofa and into the centre of the living room.

Al's suspicious nature is on full alert, I can see it in his eyes and mannerisms, he's nervous. Usually he would react to a comment like the one I had just made regarding he and Sam getting an early night with some off-colour remark of his own. But as I pause and wait for it he only seems to become more anxious by my presence.

"How long have you been here Verbena?"  
I find Al's questioning a little out of character, even in his current state. It's not like him to be suspicious of me, or the time I spend with Sam.

"A while, Sam invited me to share a pot of tea with him after the committee left, we've been talking," I tell him, plainly.

"Sam wanted to talk to you?"

"Yes."

"And you talked to him?"

"Yes Al." Al is an expert in intimidation and I am starting to feel somewhat uncomfortable by the way he is still regarding me.

"Did you talk about me, Verbena?"

His questions are getting ridiculous and I'm past uncomfortable and well on my way to annoyed. "Yes Al we talked about you. Sam wanted to talk, he was feeling confused so we talked for a while."

"Confused about what?"

"You should ask Sam that, Al." I inform him, crossing my arms across my chest.

My response is not taken well, guilt and fear that Sam would react badly when he discovered his closely guarded secret have tainted Al's perceptions for some time now and I can see the tension he has been under most recently finally take its toll.

"…Jesus Christ you told him," he accuses.

Clearly angry Al has somehow managed to keep his voice at the same level as the one he has been using. "That was my decision to make, not yours," he grounds out, tuning to glance back toward the kitchen to where Sam is. Then looking back again I see that in the short time this has taken his face has all but drained of colour and the pupils in his eyes are huge.

Out of reflex I reach for him, surprised that Al permits me to assist him, half expecting that he will ward me off as I motion and then guide him toward the sofa behind me.

"Sit down Al, you look like you're about to fall down," I say to him, perching on the corner of the coffee table in front of him and pointing to the sofa he is hovering over.

He appears to be hearing me but I can't be certain, wavering ever so slightly and then just as I think I'm going to have to help him he drops down.

I can see Sam standing in the doorway that divides the kitchen from the living room. He raises his hand when he sees me looking at him, signally me not to announce his proximity. I comply somewhat begrudgingly and glance back at his partner. Al is quiet, his head thrown back slightly, staring at some point on the ceiling.

"What did you say to him, Verbena?" Al asks, his voice still lower than usual.

"Sam had some questions Al and I gave him some information about what he wanted to know."

"About me?"

I hesitate before answering him, rubbing my eyes and then looking over at Sam once more. He hasn't moved and doesn't appear to have any intention of saying anything just yet.

Al is looking at me when I check back with him, obviously waiting for my answer. “Yes. Some of it was about you Al," I tell him.

There is lull in the conversation after that for several moments with no one speaking. Sam eventually leaves his position by the door and moves further into the living room, taking a seat on the armrest of the sofa on which Al is sitting. The older of the two men sensing his lovers approach instinctively.

"Verbena didn't tell me anything I didn't already know Al. Mostly I wasn't sure about what I was feeling and she was able to help me understand a few things more clearly," Sam informs him gently.

For a moment both men regard each other silently. Al's colour is returning slowly and Sam appears to be even more at ease than he did before Al arrived home. Something resolved and something decidedly defiant filling his eyes. It's up to them now, if either one of them want me to stay I will, but I think I would be best if I left them alone.

"I should be going," I say to no one in particular, rising. And then hesitantly I reach toward Al and grip his shoulder. "I'll see you later, take care of yourself," I add and then glance over to Sam, including him in my parting remarks.

Al covers my hand, squeezing gently but not looking up, his gaze still fixed on the man sitting at the other end of the sofa.

Sam then stands and walks me to the door, kissing me chastely on the cheek and thanking me.

"Let me know if you or Al wants to talk," I offer.

"I will Verbena. I might come down and see you later if that’s okay?" Sam says and then waits long enough for me to tell him that would be fine.

I leave; standing outside the closed door for longer than is really necessary. I'm not sure what I expect to hear from within Sam and Al's quarters. Shouting, perhaps, I don't know. Shaking my head, I turn and slowly make my way to the elevator.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am still far too ashamed to look at Sam so I keep my gaze firmly fixed on the corner of the low table where Verbena had been sitting, wishing she had stayed. Wishing I'd had the courage to ask her to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See part one for disclaimer and notes.

_**Al** _

I sit for what feels like ages after Verbena leaves, with Sam watching me. He has made my coffee and has set it down in front of me on the coffee table. I stare at the oversized mug he has given me, watching as the steam rises and listening to the faint sounds of china lightly taping together coming from the other side as Sam drinks his tea, occasionally returning his cup to its saucer. It all seems so loud, all the sounds of silence we make. I don't chance a look at him. I know he is watching, can imagine what he is thinking. 

Picking up my coffee mug, I sip at its contents. Enjoying its flavour and appreciating the calming effect it has always had on me. Since I gave up drinking, my cigars and coffee pretty much provide me with the only vices I openly indulge in these days. Closing my eyes while I drink I try not to think about the ones that I have until recently kept hidden from view.

"I'd like us to talk, Al." Sam announces quietly once I finish, returning my empty mug to the table.

"Okay, if you want to," I reply. I am still far too ashamed to look at Sam so I keep my gaze firmly fixed on the corner of the low table where Verbena had been sitting, wishing she had stayed. Wishing I'd had the courage to ask her to. I can't do this alone. I know Sam has already said that Verbena hadn't told him anything he didn't already know but I still feel very frightened. Yesterday when he walked in on me in the bathroom there had been a split second when I had actually believed that this had been what I had been waiting for, Sam would know now what I needed and he would understand. Being both men, he would know that occasionally we need to feel more than just the gentle hands of a lover. That he would strip off and join me, force me up against the shower wall and take me. Touch me and possess me until there was no trace of Tran left. But it hadn't happened; the look on Sam face had been one of confusion and fear. He had turned from me then and fled. He had only spoken of love afterwards and it was clear he didn't understand at all.

"I'm sorry," I add, still staring aimlessly at the table in front of me.

"I know, Al. I know you're sorry. I just want you to tell me what's going on, so that I can help you," he tells me patiently.

I had expected anger from Sam, anger I understand. What I hadn't anticipated was this calmness that seems to have enveloped him. I raise my eyes and sit back in the sofa. He is sitting across from me, his legs crossed at the knee and his teacup resting beside him on the sofa. He does look tired, and sad. It's the sadness in his eyes that unravels me, reminds me that no matter what I say, I will only add to his grief.

Truly I never wanted this to happen, to hurt him as I have. When I told Sam I was in love with him it had been out of my own selfish need to have him love me in return. I never considered that it would change both our lives as it has. I never imagined he would fear it so much that he would risk his life and test the accelerator chamber before everything was ready, or that after all the years apart he would return and want to try to love me. That even that act of bravery on his part would cause so much difficulty for both of us. 

Finishing his tea Sam also returns his cup and saucer to the table dividing us and stands up. I watch him rise; he is tall and towers over me when he walks around to where I am sitting.

Our eyes lock for a moment as he stares down at me, tilting his head to one side and offering one of his very shy smiles, it's a little crooked, but always endearing. God, it's so hard to look at him when he does that. I force my gaze away and look down at my hands. I'm trembling slightly so I lace my fingers together and rest them in my lap to stop the tremors.

"What do you want me to say, Sam?" I ask him once he is seated beside me, his hand reaching over and gently touching the sleeve of my jacket drawing my attention.

"Look at me Al." He demands softly and I can't resist him, not when he is so close and the tone of his voice is overwhelmingly irresistible. I look over to him. There is no smile this time, only the open face of the man who means more to me than anyone.

"I've been thinking," Sam begins, withdrawing his hand along with the lint he has removed from my jacket, folding his arms. "I want us to spend some time at the house and I think it would be a good place for us to talk," He tells me, adding. "Perhaps we could go out there tonight."

I feel a little thrown initially, I understand Sam wants to talk, but I had thought he would want to do that here and I can't begin to comprehend the significance of conducting our discussion in an empty house. "There's hardly any furniture there Sam, couldn't we just talk here"? I argue.

He shakes his head slowly. "There's too many memories here Al. Too many ghosts for both of us."

I'm okay that Sam's bought the house, that he only wants us to have some privacy, but I'm not ready to go back out there. He's right this place is full of ghosts, everywhere we go there's something, an old memory waiting to infringe on what we have now. I can't go anywhere right now; I need to dispose of the evidence for one particular memory before it is discovered.

"I can't Sam, I have things to do," I tell him.

"What sort of things can't wait a couple of days Al?" He queries, his voice still low and patient.

I don't answer, struggling to find a suitable excuse, knowing I have none.

"Are you talking about the files you left on your desk? Because if you are, I wouldn't worry about them, they can be filed, or whatever else you were planning on doing with them later. I locked the door on my way out so no one's going to go into your office until we get back," he informs me matter-of-factly.

For a moment I consider asking Sam what he's talking about, but I know that it won't do any good. He has already found what I was trying to hide from him.

"How did you know?"

"I went looking for you this morning before the committee arrived. I thought you might have gone to your office so I went there to see if you were okay," Sam explains. He's not accusing me of anything but now I can hear the disappointment in his voice.

All I can do is nod, my own stupidity has caused enough trouble and its best if I don't try to deny it.

"Who is she to you, Al?" He asks after a moment, and then adds almost in the same breath. "Did you have an affair with her?"

That Sam would think that I could be involved with someone like Donna Stewart never crossed my mind until now and I find the thought a little odd. I smile despite the awkwardness of the situation.

"She's not really my type Sam." 

"Whose then?"

"Yours," I answer before I think to stop myself from doing so. 

"Mine, but I've never met her before today, Al. How is that possible?"

I shift a little so that I am sitting sideways on the sofa and so that Sam and I can look at one another without craning our necks, pausing for a moment to rub my own, attempting to alleviate some of the tension there. From the moment I set foot in here this afternoon I have felt the nagging pressure start to build at the base of my skull and the increasing tightness in that region is giving me a headache.

"You have met her, Sam. Before you leaped…you were in love with her," I try to explain. "When you came on board of the Star Bright Project, she was still there. But you changed that during one of the leaps." I can see by Sam's bewildered expression and it is clear that none of what I am saying is casting any light on the situation.

He regards me quizzically, obviously waiting for me to add something else. I'm not sure what else to tell him really. Most of that time had been very painful for Sam. She had all but broken his heart and I was glad when Sam had changed history during his third leap and Donna Elesee, as she had been known back then had chosen to marry the first man who had asked her. Ultimately saving Sam from the pain he had felt when she had left him waiting at the altar.

"Were you jealous of her, Al? Is that why you didn't say anything about knowing her?" He asks, sounding almost optimistic in his inquiry.

I shake my head no.

"No, I didn't think so, because you didn't seem to mind all the attention she and Diane were paying me today. What then, did you think I would remember her and want to start the relationship all over again? Did you want me to, Al?"

Sam's remarks cut deep, letting me see just how badly I had hurt him by not intervening this afternoon and allowing him to think I could just let him go. I have wanted to; I won't pretend differently. I have sometimes thought it would be better for Sam if I wasn't around. Let him have a chance at some kind of normal life after all the madness of the past few years. But not at the cost of having him think I didn't love him enough to fight for him.

"No, Sam. That's not what it was about. I just didn't want to see you hurt by drudging up the past again. You don't remember the leaps or Donna, I can see that now, but I do. Sometimes it all gets too much. Remembering things that are no longer part of this time line. Remembering things, I wish I didn't."

My head is pounding now, rolling it slowly from one side to the other, I stretch my neck once again trying to lessen the constriction that seems to spreading. Sam is watching me, his expression changing slightly. Concern shining in his eyes and then the hand that had been drawn away from me is returned and lightly laid against my cheek. 

"I'm okay," I tell him before he can ask, lifting his hand away and pinching between my eyes, effectively blocking his worrying gaze from view. "I have a headache is all."

"Can I get you something for it?" Sam asks, his hand now settled on my drawn up thigh.

"No. Not yet," I reply, moving so that his hand falls away. I would much prefer he didn't touch me right now, but I don't think Sam would understand if I told him that was because I didn't think I deserved his care or pity.

"Is that what happened when we were out at the house yesterday Al. You remembered something you didn't want to?"

I open my eyes and look up at Sam. He has moved back a little, giving me my space and I take the opportunity to further the distance between us by stretching my legs out, sufficiently obstructing any other attempts he might make at contact.

I nod slowly. There is little point in lying about my behaviour yesterday.

"Were you trying to protect me from that also, Al?"

I already know Sam's spent the afternoon talking to Verbena so his use of words like 'protect' don't come as any surprise. What does surprise me though is his underlying bias on the word.

"What do you mean?" I ask, for the first time this afternoon sensing a hint of accusation in Sam's voice.

"Something else you can't trust me with Al."

"I trust you Sam," I tell him, suddenly feeling the need to defend myself.

"Do you?"

"Yes. I love you. I just can't bear it that there is so much that still seems to hurt you."

"But I don't even know what those things are Al, because you don't trust me enough to tell me. And honestly Al, I don't understand why?" 

Didn't I just tell him I loved him, what other reason did he think I could possibly have? He has retreated even further away from me now, backed right up against the arm of the sofa, all traces of patience gone from his voice and the pain of rejection shining brightly in his eyes.

"Because I love you," I repeat.

"No," he states, shaking his head in disbelief. "You can't even have me touch you right now Al, can you?" And then adds without allowing me any time to respond. "How can you expect me to believe you when you can't even be honest about that?"

Clearly Sam has noted my failed attempts to guard myself against his tenderness. The same tenderness he offers so freely that is sometimes as frightening as the pain I endured in the past. He is so different to any other man I have loved. The only one, whoever loved me in return, I think bitterly, chiding myself for my foolishness. 

"I'm sorry Sam; I just need a bit of space. I don't mean to push you away," I apologise, meaning every word. Letting down my guard a moment too late and reaching for him, but not quite making a connection as he withdraws completely and stands.

"How much space do you need Al? An arm’s length…" he demands, holding his arm out to me to demonstrate. "…So I can't reach you, can't comfort you. Or is it further than that. So I can't see what it is that you’re still hiding from me. I saw you yesterday, saw the fear when we out at the house and then the enjoyment…pain…I still don't know which it was,” he says, shaking his head again and finally lowering his arm. “What was it Al, tell me. Tell me please, where did all that come from."

I am literally riveted to the sight of Sam completely frustrated and angry, angry with me. He is standing only a few feet away, his hands on his hips now, waiting for me to react. But what am I going to say. I open my mouth to say something; anything I figure at this point would be better than saying nothing at all. Offer some kind of defence for what I have done, but nothing comes out. I can't deny any of what he has accused me of; it's all true. I do, I push him away because the idea of him trying to comfort me reminds just how different we are. How innocent he is in comparison to myself. How sometimes I think all the years that he couldn't touch me were a blessing and the thought of what he might say or do if should I actually tell him what I was feeling or trying to remember feeling yesterday was how good it was with someone else is too terrifying for words.

It's only a matter of seconds before the tension between us is too much and Sam looks away, turning his back on me. Running his fingers through the long strands of his hair and then dropping his arms uselessly to his sides, head and shoulders rolling forwards.

The classic pose of one defeated and without hope, I think ruefully. I have seen it before, too many times. Seen it worn like shroud by men I have served with and by the women who have loved me over the years when there was nothing else left to protect them. It pulls at me now, seeing Sam adopt this same pose, threatening to tear out what is left of my heart and edging me closer to tears than I have been for months. Not since the night of Sam's welcome home party, the same night we made love for the first time have I felt so utterly overwhelmed by the intensity of my feelings for him. How even from that first night I have been lying to Sam. Keeping from him, a part of myself that I have never shared with anyone who really knew me. Only nameless men who severed a purpose when it was most needed and then only for the time it took to relieve the urge so I could return to my life, and to Sam.

I do not allow myself to weep as I reflect; watching as Sam pulls his protective shroud around him more firmly with every passing moment. I know I could lose him now, very easily if I should choose to let this to go on any longer. My entire life for the past twenty years has revolved around his. We fit together despite our differences. He has given me something that no one else ever has, unconditional friendship, and love and for the life of me I can't imagine a day without him in it.

I stand, fighting the nausea as my head spins, taking a few moments before I feel steady enough to cross the short distance between us and reach out and gently take hold of one of Sam's shoulders. Immediately feeling tight muscles tense under my grip, giving me hope. While there is resistance there is still hope, I remind myself. Turning him forcibly I implore he look at me by gently lifting his chin, releasing him when our eyes meet.

"I'm sorry," I say again, reaching down and taking one of his hands in mine. Holding our joined hands close to my chest as I speak so he can't pull away from. I can see it in his eyes, he wants to. "I know I keep saying that and it must be starting to sound like just a bunch of words and you probably think I don't mean them, but I do Sam. I never meant to hurt you. I love you, please believe me."

There is very little reaction to my words, not that I expected Sam to automatically forgive me but I find his silence almost as disconcerting as his anger. I loosen the grip I have on him a little, but don't let go.

"I didn't say anything about Senator Stewart because I didn't want you to be hurt again."

"But it’s part of my life Al, my past. I had a right to know. We all had a right to know that you knew her. This isn't just something that affects you and I," Sam snaps. Tugging his hand away he steps back and sits on the arm of the closest sofa, glaring at me. "The whole Project was involved; you can't to decide not to tell anyone things like that just because you don't want me hurt. Jesus Al I've been home for months now; I am missing seven years of my life. When do I gain the right to know the details of what I have lost? For God's sake Al, I'm not a child," he finishes, looking away in disgust.

I guess I had known that trying to keep my association with Senator Stewart from Sam or any of the others was only going to lead to trouble. Short of her forgetting me, which considering when we met I was at the height of my drunken lout period, moving steadily toward getting myself drummed out of the Navy for good, it was not very likely.

Watching Sam now I wonder, trying desperately to remember what it was that I had hoped to achieve by keeping that knowledge from him. When did I start thinking of him as incapable of facing what life dealt him? Was it after he starting leaping? No, my conscience reminds me. It goes back even further than that. Somewhere around the time I first found myself attracted to him most likely. And ever since then I have tried to shield him from anything that could cause him pain, including things about myself for the longest time. My real self that is, the one that I find too hard to even show him, probably the only person on the face of the earth who really wants to love and understand me.

I don't apologise again, it's pointless when the damage is already done and the words themselves don't add any clarity to the situation. I've been doing it for years now, hiding behind words and excuses and for the first time in my life I feel completely at a loss at how I am going to change that. The man sitting a few feet away does love me, though sometimes I don't understand why he does. If any one person could give me a reason to change, it is Sam.

I approach where Sam is sitting and seat myself close by on the edge of the coffee table. He glances over at me but doesn't say anything. There is a part of me that wishes he would reach out to me and I'm a little surprised by my own need for physical contact right now. I have spent so long trying to keep my distance from Sam when we argue that his pushing me away this one time seems to have cured me of it for the moment. I would give anything right now if he would just hold me or allow me to hold him.

"I was wrong Sam; I should have told you about Senator Stewart," I say quietly. "I know now that I should have told you about a lot of things." This added as I look away. Knowing full well that it's the other things that Sam wants and has more right than anyone to know about. My behaviour and treatment of him deserves an explanation and I have every intention of giving him what he deserves, only my head is throbbing and even the sound of my own voice right now is too loud. I close my eyes and stretch, resting my aching head in my hands for a few minutes when I'm finished to gather my thoughts.

The position of being bent over doesn't help the pounding in my head and before long I sit up again and open my eyes, finding Sam still regarding me quietly when I do.

"I'm listening," he says flatly, his anger still only just below the surface I note.

"I get frightened," I answer. I know I sound defensive but I can't seem to keep the tone from my voice. There is so much to explain. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself so that I can actually say what I should have long ago.

"I used to be frightened all the time when you were leaping," I begin again, more slowly this time. It's the truth, so the words come out easily, surprising me. "I was so very afraid that something would happen to you Sam. There were times when you were in danger and I felt so helpless observing, not being able to do anything other than watch." I stop for a moment, trying not to think about the last time I was forced to watch Sam being hurt. Blocking out the images that come unbidden to mind of Sam and Tran. I swallow the bile that rises automatically with the memory and force myself to go on.

"You asked me before to tell you where my fears came from, why I have been behaving the way I have lately," I remind him, watching him closely as I speak to gage his reaction. He nods slowly acknowledging that he understands to what part of our conversation I am referring to.

"Okay, good Sam. Well I've told you it was because I need my space and partly that's true. I do need to try and makes sense of what's been happening to me. I talk to Verbena about it and I have tried to find a way to explain it to you Sam, but each time I do, I come up with the same thing."

"What's that?" He asks, startling me slightly when in interrupts me.

I flinch under Sam's steady gaze but manage to answer. "That I'd only end up hurting you," I say meeting his eyes.

He shakes his head very slowly. "Can't you see Al, by not telling me what's going on, you're hurting both of us. Don't you think it's time you stop treating me like I'm too fragile to hear the truth and just tell me?"

"Yes I do Sam," I say, resigned.

I have thought about this moment for months off and on, dreamt about it and probably spent more time pondering every possible outcome than I have any other problem, not including the retrieval program that is in the past seven years. Its arrival hasn't been unexpected, nor has it been something I have looked forward to either. Simply a moment I knew would come eventually. Now that it's actually here though most of the fear that I had always associated with it isn't as all-consuming as I had thought. I feel amazingly calm as I regard Sam, taking one last look into his gentle green eyes and I tell him.

"I've been hurt Sam. Really hurt, and I don't just mean emotionally, you know about that," I remind him. He nods, his eyes turning sympathetic. "I guess most of my fears come from that, being hurt and not wanting to hurt anyone else."

I pause and swallow, wondering if is the very last time that the man sitting beside me will look at me in quite the same way as he is now, or if he will simply decide that I'm not worth it and leave. I don't think about it too long, there is no going back now. I fix my eyes with his as I speak, memorizing that gaze and go on.

"I know what it's like to feel completely out of control, Sam. It's like someone else is in charge of your very existence, and no matter what you do to protect yourself from the pain, it doesn't change anything. A long time ago I found a way to make it stop, the pain and the feelings of helplessness, I mean."

Sam slips off the arm of the sofa when I stop again to clear my throat. Taking up a more comfortable position on the edge of the sofa closest to me, reaching out and taking one of my hands in his own, giving me silent encouragement to complete what I have started. "I gave into it Sam,” I say without missing a beat, determined not to disappoint him more than I already have. “At first I thought it was my only choice, but I don't even know if that's completely true. When I was in Vietnam I remember thinking if I wasn't so afraid of being hurt then perhaps I could escape it somehow, and I did for a while. Finally, it stopped, it all did," I tell him shaking my head, remembering the emptiness that came with my escape from the pain, or what I thought was my escape.

"After Nam I came home to the states and I found out Beth had moved on. I got angry, but for some reason it didn't hurt anywhere near as much as what I'd been through. Oh I cried, blamed everyone around me and got into a bunch of fights but I just kept going. I got married again pretty quickly and thought, well this is it, life goes on. I was given a lot of opportunities to move through the ranks in the Navy and I took them. I wasn't thinking about anyone but myself in those days and one day I woke up and discovered that I'd let my marriage suffer because of it. I ended up receiving my separation papers attached to a toaster which she'd aimed at my head, Sam." I laugh, a little sad thinking about how every argument I had with Inga had resulted in her throwing something at me, and how in the end, it was easier for her to just throw me out.

Sam manages to smile at what I've said and takes the opportunity to release my hand and wipe his own across the leg of his trousers. I'm sweating and I can imagine that holding my hand at the moment isn't all that enticing. He offers another tiny smile when he re-laces our fingers. "It’s okay, Al. Go on, please." he urges quietly.

"Inga was wife number two, Sam," I tell him, squeezing his hand a little.

"I know Al, you told me."

I nod and sigh, taking a breath. Wishing for something to moisten my dry mouth with, but unwilling to stop what I have started to get something to drink. On the up side my headache is decreasing somewhat. Verbena has been telling me for months that my frequent headaches were from built up tension and if I learned to share a bit of the load that they wouldn't be such a problem to me. Maybe she's right, because the ache isn't quite as uncomfortable now and I rub the back of my neck once more to encourage the further release of tight muscles and pick up my story again.

"It wasn't until after she left me that I started to think about where I was in the world, figuratively speaking I mean. You know where was I going and all that. I'd already been offered the NASA stint so I took it up. I decided there was more to life than being married, so I'd check out what space could offer me. Of course I hadn't figured the space suit would get me more women than I could count. Only thing was they only wanted the suit and what it could get them. I met Ruthie about that time and she was different to the others. She was very good to me, Sam, and I cared about her very much but I couldn't make her happy and eventually she left too. I thought it was the end of the world the day she moved out. Decided that I was the lowest scum on earth and went looking for any way I could to prove it," I tell him.

"What did you do?" Sam asks seriously.

"I went looking for trouble. I was angry with myself and for the first time in years I was hurting."

Sam releases my hand finally, folding his own in his lap and sits back in the sofa. I know he's just relaxing but I need to maintain some contact with him so I shift a little myself so that I'm facing him with our knees just touching one another, grounding me.

"I hadn't thought about being with a man since I was repatriated Sam and I don't know if that's what I had in mind that night or not. I just wanted someone to be with, someone to escape with, I suppose," I tell him. He has heard most of my stories about how easy it is to pick up women so I don't go into details of how I found what I was looking for that night. "I met a guy in a bar and one thing lead to another and before I knew what I was doing I was letting him take me out into the alley. I think he knew I was new to the scene because he was pretty understanding. After a bit of fumbling I just ended up telling him what I wanted, and he obliged."

"You had sex with him in the alley?"

I nod. "Yeah, and in his car and back at his place," I add, watching Sam's expression. It's still the same as before, serious but not judgmental and I wonder what's going on behind that sober exterior.

"What are you thinking Sam?" I ask, not sure if I really want to hear his answer.

"I was wondering what it was that that stranger gave you, Al? What is it that I can't seem to?”

"I let him help me escape the pain I was feeling," I tell him without hesitation.

"How?"

"By replacing it with something else."

"More pain."

"Yes." I do look away now, shifting slightly. Drawing myself inward in preparation of what will come next. I want to tell him it's not just the feelings of pain inflicted against my flesh that drive me when the urge is so great that I can't ignore any longer, but what the other feelings do to me coupled with that. The one's where I am not in control anymore, that someone else is making my decisions for me and that's what I need to escape. How letting go completely from everything, including every responsibility I have, real or imagined allows me my release. But I don't. I can't, not just yet. I don't know if there will be a chance to do so later on but it doesn't matter anymore. Because what's important, the only thing that's important to me right now is Sam.

Moments of long silence pass as we sit together, the connection between us broken when I pulled back a little, leaving us completely adrift and it simply seems like ages before either of us speak. It's Sam that finds his voice first.

"Did I hurt you somehow yesterday, Al? When we were out at the house. Is that why you were…when we got back…in the bathroom, you were hurting yourself. Was it what I did?"

I look back at Sam mid-sentence, watching him struggle with the words to describe what he had seen. He is blaming himself again when it wasn't his fault. Another habit I have to put an end to. Letting others take the responsibility of my mistakes upon themselves.

"Stop it," I tell him. "No Sam, please don't blame yourself. You didn't know…" I stop, chiding myself again for my stupidity. He didn't know, because I didn't tell him. Reaching for him I lean forward and take his face between my hands, holding him in place while I try to think of a way to explain. Resting my forehead against his for a moment before pulling back and using my thumb to wipe the single tear that has slipped from the corner of one of his eyes.

I know I have to tell Sam the truth; otherwise everything I've said and put us both through would have been for nothing if I don't. We'll be back at square one again and accomplished zip, just more heartache.

"Yes," I say. "What you said yesterday reminded me of something." I feel Sam try to pull out of the hold I have him in but I don't allow it. "Just listen, Sam. Okay." He settles almost immediately and I lessen my grip, a little afraid that I may be hurting him. Another tear slides down his cheek and I move to wipe it away only to have him take my hand and bring it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to its palm.

"I'm sorry Al," he whispers holding my hand to his cheek, closing his eyes.

"Shh, it's okay," Is all I can think to offer at the moment. I haven't told Sam what is was that he'd said, I will if he asks, but for the time being I think he just needs to be reassured. With him still holding one of my hands I slip off the table and kneel between his knees, wrapping my free arm around him as best I can and resting my head against his chest.

For a long time, I listen to the sound of Sam's heart beat strongly in his chest, offering more words of assurance and riding out the occasional tremor as he comes to terms with what we have discussed. 

It's almost dark outside by the time my knees finally give out and I have no choice but to move from my current position. He is very still when I withdraw my free hand and sit up. The fingers on my other hand are numb and are still firmly held in one of Sam's and for a moment of two I think I am going to have to pry them apart. He has us locked together and doesn't appear to have any intention of letting me go just yet.

"I need to get up," I tell him, finally separating our hands. He nods, regarding me in a manner akin to having only just noticed me there and then holds my gaze as he helps me to my feet and guides me down beside him without uttering a word. It's scary; his silence combined with the last rays of light that are eerily cast across one side of his face. I want to ask him if he's all right, but I know neither of us is, how can we be. After years of broken relationships and ruined marriages the one person who I could gladly give my life for most likely doesn't want any part of me.

"Thanks," Is all I say as I settle beside him on the sofa, hoping for a response of some kind. Thankfully it's not long in coming.

"I can't, Al" He whispers, dropping his eyes suddenly. I know what it is, what he is trying to tell me and I'm not at all surprised by his declaration. Well, he wouldn't be my Sam if he could, I tell myself, wishing this were different for us. Wishing I was different. 

"I can't hurt you Al. I'm sorry but I've never hurt anyone like that in my life, certainly not anyone I love." He pauses, looking back at me, his expression is open, loving and honest, everything that epitomizes the man he is. "I know you haven't asked me to do anything but I'm not sure I'd ever be able to give you what you want. I don't know what that means for us right now, Al. All I do know is that I don't want to lose you."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know what I said out at the house had been a catalyst of sorts for Al. Something that had been building for a while from what he tells me, which had found its breaking point when I suggested we make love in the bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for the disclaimer and notes.

**_Sam_ **

Easing myself up on my elbows I carefully check the time. According to the clock on the far side of our bed it's 2:35 am. I haven't slept at all since Al and I decided to retire for the night approximately three hours ago and I know, looking down at the man beside me, that Al is experiencing the same difficulty that I am. I've tried to lay still so as not to disturb him, hoping that at least one of us will get some rest, but it hasn't happened. He's awake even though his breathing is steady and his eyes are closed. 

I ease myself back down to my pillow and slowly reach out to Al, lightly touching his hair. I love him so much. I wish we could just find some peace, I think closing my eyes and carding the thinning strands of his hair between my fingers. Usually this time together late at night is something I cherish. It's our time, when we are alone and don't have to remember that we both have images to protect. We can simply be ourselves and enjoy the little freedom my quarters provide. Most often we are both asleep at this hour, but tonight my mind is overflowing with all we have discussed and it's not easy to let any of it go.

I know what I said out at the house had been a catalyst of sorts for Al. Something that had been building for a while from what he tells me, which had found its breaking point when I suggested we make love in the bath. I didn't know. And even though I could not have known my remark, innocent in my own mind would affect him as it did, I can't help feeling responsible for its result. No, Al hadn't told me Tran had abused him in that way until tonight. If he had much of how I have treated him would have changed. He says that's not what he wanted. He wanted to forget Tran and everything about him and having listened to Al describe the man and his treatment of my lover, I don't blame him. Unfortunately, for the time being we both know that isn't possible. Commander Tran still has an intricate part to play in Al's recovery and until that is complete, he will be a constant reminder to both of us of Al's time spent with him. He is not the only factor though and Al seems reluctant to admit that. I don't have a great deal of knowledge into the human psyche as far as masochism goes but I do know that Al's feelings go far deeper than Tran's treatment of him.

My discussion this afternoon with Verbena had been an eye-opening experience and had prepared me for a lot of what Al had told me about himself and his needs. Needs I had thought, until only a day or so ago that I had understood and tried to accommodate. I was wrong, very wrong on that point and there had been times this evening when I felt as if I not known anything about him at all. Other than the fact that I love him with all my heart, I remind myself wistfully.

A slight stirring under my hand halts my self-analysis for the time being and I open my eyes to find Al staring at me in the darkness.

"You, okay?" he whispers.

"Yes." I return, moving closer to him and resting my head on the edge of his pillow. We've stayed close through the night, never very far from the other physically. Both I think, seeking to keep Al's secret from pulling us apart any more than it already has. Emotionally however it is another story entirely. I feel strangely cut off from Al in many ways and it is these feelings in particular that are compounding my restlessness. "I can't sleep," I tell him once I'm settled again. Pushing away my last thought as best I can.

"No, me either. Do you want to talk some more?"

"Yes, and no," I answer. "I think I'm too tired for it to do any good," I add more quietly. My whole body feels completely drained from the day and my mind simply won't stop its relentless questioning. Demanding I give into the many thoughts I have and pay them the attention they require. Honestly I don't think talking will change how I feel right now. It's difficult to describe, this sensation that doesn't quite register as anything. Numb, is the closest I have come to naming it.

"We can give it a try if you want, Sam." Al offers, rolling over to face me.

We are very close and I can feel the expulsion of each breath with every word as it is uttered against my face. It’s warm and gentle, as if he is caressing me with his words. A hand, just as gentle slowly slips around my waist drawing me even closer to him, until his lips are mere centimetres away from mine. I want to kiss him, to rid myself of every thought and doubt that I have and to just remember how I had felt last night and this morning when I woke up. Remember how gentle Al is with me, how when we are together that _I just know_ that nothing could ever pull us apart.

Without another word spoken between us I close the remaining distance and press my mouth to his. It's natural, very natural for me to kiss Al, something that once I got used to the subtle differences of kissing another man opposed to a woman I never tire of. An act so simple which stands as a constant reminder to me of how special our relationship is now and something I have endeavoured to express myself with when words fail me. But tonight it feels odd somehow. Like I shouldn't simply assume I have a right to touch him as I used to. The lips beneath my own are still as I attempt to initiate a slow and tender joining and it is only seconds before I can no longer ignore what I consider to be Al's disinterest. Pulling back, I am once more met with his piercing eyes regarding me solemnly.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, feeling suddenly ashamed.

"Don't be, Sam. You have nothing to be sorry for," he answers in a low patient voice. An echo of the same patience he has shown me throughout the night. The hand that has settled on my back, holding me firmly in the embrace we share moves again when he pauses, soothing me with ever-increasing certainty. "I'm a little surprised is all. I didn't expect you to want to…you know." He adds as his hand then travels slowly to the back of my neck, massaging me gently while the other appears from its prison trapped between our bodies to brush my hair away from my eyes.

"I didn't kiss you good night," I explain.

"No you didn't, but it’s okay." Al sighs heavily, sending another wave of warm air across my face. "I kinda figured from tonight that you were okay with me being here, but I thought you'd need…well, a little time, Sam, and I didn't want to push you."

"You’re not," I tell him; a little surprised he would think I wouldn't want him here, in our bed. "And there's no reason for you to be anywhere but here with me, Al. I love you and I love sleeping with you." This said as I turn slightly against him, shielding my face and hopefully my unspoken fears from the man gently stroking my hair. I do love him and the feeling of having him lying beside me each night. In my heart, I want to spend every night of the rest of my life in Al's arms but I'm so afraid that this new aspect he wants to add to our relationship will sooner or later make that impossible. That ultimately it will drive a wedge between us that I won't be able to overcome no matter how much we talk about it.

I shudder at the thought and the chest against mine absorbs the small but unmistakable movement. Staying perfectly still, I remain where I am for a tense moment, praying Al will ignore it, but the hand at the back of my neck very carefully tilts my head up and out of its hiding place buried against his shoulder.

"What is it, Sam?" He asks, holding my cheek in the palm of his hand while the other supports the back of my head.

"It's nothing," I lie. Surprised at how easily the words fall from my tongue. "I just want you to hold me." I add pressing myself impossibly close to him; feeling his legs shift to accommodate our new position, cradling me against the strong curves of his body. And then the minor adjustments he makes to the bedding. Settling once more I slip my hand under the T-shirt that Al is wearing for more contact, stroking his lower back. Knowing that I am playing a very dangerous game but at the same time wanting something, anything, to quell my fears. I'm not sure what I'm inviting exactly or whether Al will simply accept that I need comfort and no more. I just want to feel that we are still the same, to try and get back some of what we had before I took Al out to the house. I know from what he has told me that his feelings have always been the same, but part of me almost wishes that I had not followed him into the bathroom after we returned. That I had remained ignorant of his deepest desires. I feel terribly ashamed of myself, unworthy somehow of his honesty.

As if sensing my need for reassurance, my head is then gently guided forward and Al reinitiates what I had begun. Kissing me deeply he is able to quieten my thoughts and fears, and his I hope, as he traces the depths of my yielding mouth. Sucking slowly on my tongue and purging me of my turmoil for the time it takes for him to finish his loving exploration.

Releasing me carefully Al trails less intense kisses to the tip of my nose and my forehead. Holding me securely in his arms he whispers against my hair that he loves me. Words that I have heard daily for months now that have never sounded so heartfelt as they do at this moment, murmured low in the dark by my dearest friend. I know it's true, he does love me as much as it is humanly possible for one person to love another.

For long moments I rest silently against Al's body, his arms and legs wrapped around my own, holding us together as he has many nights since my return, trying to enjoy the refuge his arms provide. It's not long though before my mind begins a new bombardment of questions, taunting me with various scenarios regarding our future together on a seemingly endless loop and refusing me the rest I so badly need right now. I close my eyes against this new onslaught, tucking my head further under the arm Al has around my shoulders, trying to shut out the many images playing in my head.

Al had confirmed my suspicions as far as the other men he has been with through his long life. Suspicions that hadn't existed until tonight, that other than Tran all the others had been from bars, gay bars mostly, and the seedier haunts that most cities have if you know where to look. All of them looking for much the same thing Al had been seeking at the time, sex without ties or account. Not just sex, I remind myself bitterly. If it had been just that, then perhaps I could just let it all go, but I can't. I can't seem to stop the images of Al submitting to the faceless men he had picked up over the years for the purpose of having them hurt him; seeing him ask and enjoying acts I could never associate with pleasure. I know I shouldn't be surprised by this discovery; I had known after all that Al had been careful to keep his sexuality hidden. What did I expect? I ask myself, annoyed at my own naiveté. That he had someone tucked away somewhere. Someone who gave him what he needed before I came along.

It is with my last thought that I finally identify my greatest fear. If I was not going to be able to give him what he needed from time to time, and I had made that very clear that I couldn't hurt him physically, then where would Al find the release he had described to me. Would he take care of it himself as he had the day before yesterday, and if he did, how long would his relief last? Not indefinitely, that was a certainty. No, it would be like comparing masturbation with actual sex. It couldn't possibly be the same as being with a partner, even if that partner was only there while the need lasted, and I knew that's what Al was used to. Seeking out another to assist to him to complete what his mind and body craved. Would my refusal to give Al what he wanted force him away?

No matter how much I wanted to believe that our love for one another would see us through this new development in our already complicated lives, I couldn't help thinking that I would in fact lose him because of my own hang ups. That eventually Al would go elsewhere. When would it happen and where would he go? My thoughts demanded. Who would be the one to provide him with what I couldn't? Would I wait for him when the time came? Would he even tell me?

Al had managed to keep this secret from me for months, telling me I satisfied him and letting me believe he needed no more than what we had. I can feel myself start to shake, unable to stop myself falling deeper and deeper into the depths of uncertainty. Squeezing my already closed eyes more tightly shut doesn't help stop what comes to mind and the thought that I may not even know if Al sought the company of someone else is what puts an end to my ability to remain where I am. The arms that hold me feel like that of a stranger and I can no longer pretend that they don't.

Overheated from our close and prolonged proximity, my anger over the whole situation between Al and I reasserts itself again, and in the moment it takes for me to bring my head up and release myself from the embrace we share, I feel some relief that it has. Coupled with my fears, it is better than feeling nothing at all, I tell myself.

I push Al away, using more force than is necessary to disengage our bodies and roll away from him. Hearing but at the same time ignoring the small sounds of surprise he makes at my sudden withdrawal as I cover my eyes with one of my arms. Lying for a few moments in my self-imposed solitude, I endeavour to block out everything around me while I try to rationalize why I am behaving as I am. Absently noting the movements beside me. I know I have hurt Al by pushing him away, most likely leaving him as confused as I am right now by offering intimacy and then deciding that it's not what I wanted after all.

Minutes of silence stretch endlessly in the deathly quiet that lay between Al and I while I try, unsuccessfully to organise my over taxed thoughts. One question out of the many I have gnawing at me until I finally ask it.

"How long, Al?" I demand, breathlessly.

Another moment or two pass before I receive any response. "What?" It's only one word but I can hear the effort it has taken to ask. I drop my arm to my side and look over at Al. He is sitting on the side of the bed, his head supported in his hands.

"How long before you'll need it again?" I coax, my anger receding and my tenuous composure slowly returning at the sight of Al so clearly affected by what I had just done to him.

"Need what, Sam?"

I sit up but don't reach out to Al. He has his back to me so I prop myself up against the headboard of the bed, kicking away the tangled covers on my side while I make myself comfortable; running my fingers through my hair as I try to find the words to answer his question. Wishing, even though I know the futility of trying to take back what has already been said, that I hadn't brought the subject up at all.

The temperature in our room seems unseasonably warm and the combination of both Al's and my body heat isn't helping my mood. Generally, as we have tonight, we sleep with the windows open instead of shutting us down with the rest of the Project and utilizing the air conditioning, mainly because I don't consider it healthy. Tonight however we have both donned T-shirts, I don't know why, sudden modesty perhaps. I'm hot, sticky and tired beyond clear reasoning, which only serves to remind me of what I had thought earlier, that talking at this time of night wasn't going to be helpful. But I also know, glancing over at Al again, that I need to explain myself. Try and make some sense out what's going on for us. Or at least for me. I have pressed Al for complete honestly tonight and I can't hold him responsible because I have found elements of it difficult to accept. Modesty is over rated I decide as I pull my T-shirt over my head, use it to wipe the perspiration from my chest and then toss it on the floor.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to form the necessary words to clarify my question. "Before you want to be hurt," I say quietly. 

Al's head lifts slowly as he removes the support of his hands, resting both a little behind him on the mattress, stretching tired neck muscles and then settles once more. "I don't know, Sam." He informs me flatly and then adds more gently, turning to look at me over his shoulder. "It's not important."

Oh how I wish it were true, I think as I take in the sight of Al trying to convince me of what we both know is not something he has chosen, but has nevertheless become a part of him. 

"But it is. It's part of you, Al. What you want…and need." I amend, feeling myself gain back a little of the resolve I had this afternoon when I had spoken to Verbena. Wanting desperately to feel some semblance of control over the circumstances I have found myself in with Al I forge ahead.

"We both have to accept that it's what you need," I repeat, more for myself than for Al. "I want you to tell me when you do want it. I don't want to spend the rest of our lives together wondering when it's going to happen, worrying that you'll go to someone else because I can't…" My words fade and my heart goes suddenly to my throat as I realise I have actually told Al that I thought he might go elsewhere to fulfil his needs. 

"Is that what you think, Sam?" Pain and disbelief punctuate each word.

I can't look Al in the eye, but I can't look away from him either. My inability to answer him giving my own fears away with every second that we pass together in silence. I feel suddenly trapped in his gaze, unable to move or defend myself. Honestly I don't know what I think at this point, if he would do such a thing or not. I shake my head.

Al is moving when he speaks again, turning completely on the edge of the bed and is almost on top of me a moment later. "No, or you don't know, Sam? Because if you think I would ever go to someone else, then there is no point even having this conversation." He spits the last only inches from my face. This is the first sign of actual anger Al has exhibited toward me since this long night began and even though I'm taken back by the ferocity of his words, which are quite literally pinning me to the head board against my back. I am almost relieved that the man I know who would never just walk away without a fight is still there. I don't want to fight though, or hurt one other any more than we already have. I'm not sure what I'm doing any more; I'm too tired, too confused and unsure of myself to think straight.

I reach out to Al, meaning to touch him gently and offer something to reassure him with, but he shrugs me off. 

"Don't. If you can believe for even a moment that I could cheat on you, Sam, then don't touch me." He backs off then, retreating to the end of his side of the bed. Holding his hands up in front of himself as if to fend me off should I try to do so and assuring himself of the space he so obviously needs right now I realise.

"I don't know what I believe Al." I tell him truthfully, after my initial surprise over his very clear message has been noted. Perhaps if I'd been paying closer attention to his requests for space in the past months then his need for it wouldn't have been so great and he wouldn't have felt so compelled to hide his feelings from me. "I'm sorry," I say. Sorry for so many things, for hurting him with words and actions that I can't seem to control right now. Maybe tomorrow, when this isn't so new to me, maybe then we can come to some kind of understanding.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't want to hurt you, Al. I love you and the last thing I want is for you to think I don't trust you, because I do, but I don't know how to help you and I'm afraid that sooner or later I won't be enough." I say, trying to explain and hoping Al will understand. "I know you said I was, last night when I asked you Al, you said that I was all you needed. Do you remember?" I finish, letting my words hang in the settling air between us.

Al nods slowly, hugging his drawn up knees, but he doesn't say anything. He looks as alone as I feel, I think sadly. He has asked and I have agreed in a sense by staying where I am to give him what he wants. But I can't help feeling that not touching one another is only going to make the situation between us more difficult in the long run.  
I sigh, at the thought of how I had behaved earlier. It was much the same way I had in the very beginning of our relationship after Al had told me how he felt about me, before I started leaping. I would go so far and then pull back, leaving Al wondering what he had done wrong. It was a long time ago, I remind myself and I promised myself when I came home that I would never again treat him that way, that I would trust Al and his love for me. That's all I needed to do back then, I recall, thinking how everything between us had been so much simpler in light of the last few days. It had taken a long time to realise it but all that had been required was for me to allow Al to show me how to love him, and if I was not to lose him now, I knew I needed to again. 

I don't ponder the prospects for very long; I haven't given Al a chance to explain what my role would be, what he would want me to do, I have only stated that I could not hurt him physically even though I am aware there is more to Al's request than that. Now isn't the time to discuss it however, I simply don't have the energy and I doubt, considering my most recent treatment of him he would be willing to do so.

Rubbing my face, I stretch out my long legs, being careful as I do not to let them wander to close to where Al is sitting; respecting his wishes as best I can, given the size of the bed.

"We should try and get some sleep." I offer gently, not sure if Al will want to join me.

We have made plans to go out to the house in the morning and I have a few things that need attending to before we can leave. Perhaps getting away from the Project will provide us with the opportunity to work on the issues that have arisen tonight, I think slipping down the bed, hoping Al will feel the same way. Yawning, I rearrange my pillow and then reach down to retrieve the sheet to cover myself with.

I watch Al sitting silently at the end of our bed for several minutes after I'm settled. He doesn't say anything or return my gaze. He didn't move a muscle when I reached behind him to gather the sheet which I have now pulled up to my waist. Seemingly occupied with his own thoughts for the time being I leave him to his solitude and pray that in the morning he will forgive me.

"Good night," I say quietly after a few more minutes, deciding that I should take my own advice and try and get some sleep. There is a brief glance of recognition from Al and I have to tell myself that it's enough for the moment. I roll over on my side then and stare at the shadows cast by the security lights outside and the limp drapes hanging lifelessly against the open window until I fall asleep.

\----*----

Sometime through the night I wake with a gentle breeze on my face and the weight of Al against my back. The sounds of his gentle snoring signalling his own success to finally achieve sleep. I'm immediately relieved that not only has he found some measure of peace, but that he is curled around me in his usual position also. Reaching down I take the hand loosely draped around my waist and bring it to my lips, kissing the knuckles of his hand.

"I love you," I whisper to the man behind me. I know he can't hear but it doesn't matter, it doesn't make the fact that I do love him any less true. Very carefully I return his hand to its original resting place and release it, not wishing to disturb him and content to simply enjoy the feeling of security that it gives me about my waist. Reminding me that I am loved and needed also.

Later today I will tell Al what I have decided, that I am willing to try to fulfil whatever needs he has. That I will do as I had when I first came home and I will trust him to know both our limits. I close my eyes again on that thought and allow the sounds of his breathing to lull me back to sleep.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know what else I can say, Sam. I'd never cheat on you and I don't know how I can prove it to you. I love you kid, but I…" The sound of the phone signalling an incoming call from its base station stops what else Al was about the say. Releasing him and turning reflectively to retrieve it from the wall behind me I inadvertently provide Al with the opening he is waiting for to move away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for the disclaimers and notes.

_**Sam** _

I'm not sure what rouses me again. A sudden movement, or sound perhaps? Though, I note as I continue to ascend, somewhat reluctantly from the warm cocoon sleep has provided me with through the night, that all around me is still and silent. I don't know what it was, and frankly, my half-awake brain simply doesn't care. I'm still tired and all I really want to do is close my eyes and go back to sleep.

It's light outside however and when I turn my head to check, I find Al's side of the bed is empty. Reaching over to where he had lain last night I smooth the area with my open hand, searching for any remaining warmth left by his body, remembering the feel of him as he had curled around my back when I had woken last. The sheet is cool under my hand and I draw it back, mentally pulling myself inward as I do, also recalling that Al had only joined me after I had fallen asleep. Wincing at the memories that come to mind I push my face further into my pillow. But no matter how I try to avoid them I can't help thinking about the events of what would probably rank as the singularly worst night of Al's and my lives since our relationship had begun. Al's confession, our many discussions on the subject and lastly my treatment of him replay over in my mind, reminding me of how badly I had taken it all. Honestly, I don't know why I had even thought many of things that had taunted me relentlessly until I could take no more and I finally pushed Al away from me. My accusations had been cruel, thoughtless and unfair considering that he had done nothing for me to suspect him of ever cheating on me when every day since my return he had proven his loyalty to me in word and deed.

I groan into my pillow, pulling the corners up to muffle the sound, regretting what I had said and wishing that I could take it back; all the time knowing that was impossible. It was too late, what was said could not be erased no matter how much I wished it.

Slowly I release the pillow and turn my face toward the open window again, watching the drapes lift and dance momentarily with the slight breeze; heralding a more comfortable day hopefully and then fall again, repeating the motion as the minute’s slip by. The ongoing calm and silence around me only now alerting me to the possible ramifications of my previous thoughtlessness.

Twisting and then sitting up I throw back the covers, listening intently for a moment and hearing nothing. Surely Al would talk to me before he…if he were planning on…I won't allow myself to finish the thought. I am suddenly afraid that I may not be given a chance to tell Al of my decision.

The door to our room is closed I note as I climb out of bed and stride toward it, almost tripping over the strewn bedding at my feet. Yanking the door open I stop, met with the realisation of just how completely insecure I am feeling about last night as Al's rich voice filters in from the living room. He is talking to someone, just who I can't tell, and as I stand for a moment trying to slow my breathing, listening, I realise that the conversation he is engaged in seems to be decidedly one sided. I look down at myself only dressed in my boxer shorts and nothing else; deciding that if I am going to confront Al and our visitor I need to at least put on a robe. I pause long enough to retrieve mine from the back of the door and put it on, tying the sash firmly around my waist before I step across the threshold.

Al is in fact alone, sitting on the sofa in the living room when I emerge, the telephone receiver pressed to his ear, listening to whoever it is on the other end of the line. He turns to glance at me when I step further into the room, lifting his free hand to beckon me closer, his expression serious.

"Okay, tell him I'll be there in ten minutes." I hear Al inform the caller and then watch as he hits the end key on the phone. Staring at the small device cradled in his hands for a moment before he tosses it on to the sofa beside him. "Damn it," he grumbles, obviously annoyed by the interruption.

"What's going on?" I ask sitting down beside him on the arm of the sofa. He is clearly disturbed by whatever news he has just received, but I can't imagine what that could be. Everything is under control as far as the Project goes. Our problems are the only ones that come to mind and even though I feel a twinge of guilt over my disinterest in anything else, Al's and my relationship is my primary concern right now.

Shrugging off his disgruntled mood for the moment Al's expression softens noticeably as he shifts his attention to me.

"It's nothing, really Sam. A registered letter is all, but the guy delivering it wants a signature and I gotta go out to the main gate and give it to him," he tells me. Then inquires reaching out to me, stroking my closest arm lightly, before drawing his hand away. "How did you sleep?"

Al looks as worn and tired as I feel. Sleep tousled hair, morning stubble tinged with grey, dark shadows under his eyes and I am suddenly overwhelmed by his change in demeanour and the sincerity of his inquiry. It is so much like Al to be more concerned about me, than himself. The way it has always been between us if I cared to stop and think about it.

"Okay," I manage, slipping off the arm of the sofa to sit alongside him. Only moments ago I had feared the worst. Had all but convinced myself when I woke up alone that he had left and now here I am caught in his loving gaze, rendered speechless by its warmth and depths as I have been countless times before.

"Good." He nods apparently satisfied with my answer and then rises slowly. "I'm going to take a shower, Sam. The sooner we find out what this is all about the better. We'll talk about what time we can leave for the house when I get back, if that's okay with you?" He adds brushing past me.

"Sure." I reply, pulling my knees back as far as I am able to aid his manoeuvrability in the space between the sofa and the coffee table, watching as he then disappears into our bedroom without another word.

Sitting for a few minutes in relative quiet of the early morning, I contemplate the day ahead and what possible news could be contained in the letter awaiting Al until I hear the shower start to run. Pulling myself out of the lazy comfort of the sofa I wander into the kitchen. Al won't have time to eat if he is going to make the main gate in the time he had given the caller, but if I hurry he should just have enough time for a quick cup of coffee.

Both Al's coffee and my morning pot of tea are ready and waiting when he joins me in the kitchen. Dressed in his usual flamboyant fashion he has chosen a richly patterned silk shirt of varying shades of green and blue, fastened at the neck with silver boomerang shaped pin, contrasting trousers of forest green and a matching jacket, which he carefully hangs over the back of his stool. He appears refreshed if no less tired and offers me a small smile at the sight of his favourite mug sitting on the breakfast bar.

"Thanks." He says shyly, picking up the mug and sipping at its contents.

I feel strangely nervous around Al this morning and I can imagine it shows on my face. He spares me the occasional glance as he sips his coffee and I have the distinct feeling, judging from the lack of conversation that either of us can offer that he is feeling much the same way I am. It can't go on, I tell myself. We can't allow everything we have built together to be destroyed by Al's secret and my initial difficulty in dealing with it. I'm not any surer of my ability to actually satisfy him but I do know I want to follow through with my wish to try. I put it off last night because I was too tired to talk any more on the subject and I know we have only a minute or two before he has to leave, but I can't bear the thought of a repeat episode of the irrational thinking that had all but enveloped me when I woke up alone.

Gently clearing my throat gains Al's attention and he regards me quizzically over the rim of his coffee mug as I push my teacup away and reach across the bench. Taking his hand in my own I trace the tips of his fingers with my own while I try to summon the courage to bring the subject up again. It's not easy though and as the seconds tick by no words come out. Al watches me, his eyes full of unspoken love and longing, and sadly, of something lost, emotions I understand only too well and pray to recapture given time. Unfortunately, my chance to speak with him is also lost as eventually the little time we have runs out and Al returns his empty mug to the counter and then lifts our joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of mine.

"I have to go." He announces, gently tugging his hand away and turning to remove his jacket from the back of the stool next to where he has been standing.

"Al, before you go…I wanted to tell you something." I manage, feeling very unsure of myself when he continues getting ready to leave. I know he's listening to me, but this is not how I wanted to tell him and I simply can't let him go without saying something.

"I got frightened before, when I woke up and you weren't there." I say as I watch him slip his jacket on and adjust the collar and lapels with age-old practice. It's not what I wanted to tell him but it's the first thing that comes to mind. "I didn't hear the phone ring and I thought you'd left…me," I explain.

All movements cease and Al's eyes lock with mine as I finish telling him what I had feared earlier. That my guilt and his absence in our bed when I had woken, had culminated into near panic at the thought of losing him. As with every other issue that Al and I have faced it had boiled down to my own doubts. I had spoken of trust over the past couple of days and yet I had not shown Al what I had all but demanded of him, and for that I am truly sorry.

"Why, Sam?" He questions, seemingly perplexed by my statement. 

"Because of what I said last night?" I clarify.

Understanding dawns in an instant, altering the confusion in my lover's regard to one of solemn acceptance, the sight of which tears mercilessly at my heart. "Don't worry about it." He informs me, shaking his head, though I can hear the hurt in his voice. "I figured I had that one coming." He adds, checking his watch.

"No you didn't, Al. You didn't deserve that, I'm sorry. Please, when you come back, can we talk about this some more?"

Pushing his empty mug to the middle of the breakfast bar Al appears to be considering his answer. Carefully avoiding my eyes, his apparent unease, compounding my anxiety even more so.

"Al," I prompt, stepping around the side of the bench and carefully reaching for him, gently grasping his forearms to encourage a response.

Finally, he looks up, his eyes shining with a wild mix of conflicting emotions, none of which I can fathom immediately. The sadness is there, more intense than before and something else. "Al," I repeat.

"I don't know what else I can say, Sam. I'd never cheat on you and I don't know how I can prove it to you. I love you kid, but I…" The sound of the phone signalling an incoming call from its base station stops what else Al was about the say. Releasing him and turning reflectively to retrieve it from the wall behind me I inadvertently provide Al with the opening he is waiting for to move away.

The telephone receiver is not in its cradle and it takes me a moment to remember that Al had left it on the sofa in the living room earlier. He is snatching it up when I make my way there, snapping at the caller and informing them in his most authoritarian tone that he, ' _is on his fucking way._ ' His tone and manner stop me dead in my tracks and I wait where I am, watching as Al ends the call. He remains amazingly still for a few moments afterwards, head slightly bowed, purposely calming himself, I realise. When he turns back toward me his expression is apologetic, though set.

"We'll talk about it when I come back," he says, handing the phone over to me. Leaning forward as I take it from him and gently brushing his lips across mine before turning once more and making his way to the door.

I don't say any more to Al as I watch him take his fedora from the table by the door and go. He has things to attend to and unlike myself they can't be put off. Not that I think Al's leaving me just now was tactic to evade discussing last night, though I am still a little confused about why he thought he deserved to be treated the way he had.

Returning the phone receiver to the base, I hit recharge and clear away the empty items on the counter; resting against the freshly cleaned surface while I think about what I should do in Al's absence. Glancing around the sun drenched room I consider starting breakfast, perhaps making something more substantial than toast to compensate for what little we both ate last night. Deciding that because I wasn't sure exactly how long he'd be, it would probably be wiser to wait for his to return.

Feeling somewhat at a loss and with far too much on my mind to remain idle I wander back into the living room to adjust the air conditioning and then slip back to our bedroom. Securing the open windows before I strip the sheets from our dishevelled bed, replacing them with a clean set.

Tidying the general disarray in the room I find the magazine I had been reading a couple of nights ago poking out from under Al's side of the bed. Picking it up I straighten out the slightly creased cover and return it to its original hiding place under the stack of papers on Al's night-stand. I pause a moment as I bend to carefully arrange the other items on top of it, thinking about what had followed that night, how wonderful it had been making love with him and how awkward everything had been last night. We needed time; I tell myself, shaking off the feelings of guilt and regret that fall over me like sudden waves appearing out of nowhere, reminding me yet again of my poor treatment of Al. I need time to adjust that's all. Time to get use to this new facet of my friend and lover, to learn and hopefully one day give him what he needs.

Standing up again I smooth the comforter and stretch a little, letting go of the last of my self-recriminating thoughts as I survey the bedroom. Everything, other than the pile of sheets in the doorway is reasonably ordered and in its place I decide, glancing down to check the time. It's not even seven o'clock, but time enough that I made a start on getting ready for the day just the same.

With a shower being the next item on my agenda I strip off my robe and return it to its place on the back of the door before making my way to the bathroom, collecting the sheets as I go.

Placing the dirty laundry in the hamper I make a mental note to take care of the growing pile later on and turn the shower to a light spray. Dropping my boxer shorts on the middle of the tiled floor I ignore my tired reflection in the mirror above the vanity as I step out of them, absently toeing them toward the hamper. Stretching again to work out tensed muscles, I rub my hands across my lower back, moving then to my shoulders and neck to help the all over process. It feels good, so good in fact that I lengthen the sweep of my hand, arching my back to work the tightened muscles there and unintentionally brushing a sensitive nipple as I pass my splayed fingers over my chest. The effect is immediate, though unexpected given the circumstances, sending tiny tendrils of pleasure through me that find their centre between my legs. My mind and body remembering similarly masculine hands touching me in much the same way. I stop, lifting both hands away from my body. Surprised that I would respond so easily to the touch of my hand, I look up meeting an equally surprised mirror image of myself staring back at me. I shake my head, feeling strangely self-conscious. I'm not unaccustomed to dealing with the occasional need to masturbate, it's just that I haven't needed to, or wanted to since I came home. And considering that only the day before yesterday I had felt cheated that Al had, I also feel somewhat remiss about my own arousal now.

I had stood almost in this very spot, watching as Al had pleasured himself and found no enjoyment in it at all. Yes, I know, I chide my needy reflection, it was because of how he had brought on his satisfaction that had bothered me. Not that he hadn’t told me he needed the release. But it was what had started all of this I realise, looking down at myself, flaccid even though the very small voice in the back of my mind says that with a little more encouragement I could easily be interested. I don't understand it. Walking in on Al touching himself, seeing what he had done to achieve his release had given me my first glimpse of what he had been keeping from me all the months we have been lovers. It had probably been the most confusing display of self-stimulation I have ever seen. 

_But_ at least I now understand its origin, I remind myself, reflecting upon both my discussions with Al and Verbena. Even as a layman I understood why Al had behaved as he had, what had motivated him to hurt himself. None of which made the fact, that as his lover I was anticipating taking on something that only served to remind me of my own shortcomings. I sigh and shake my head again, bewildered by the thoughts formulating in my mind. If only I could reconcile the conflicting messages between my heart and my head, I tell myself. If only.

I am truly unsure of what I think I'm trying to prove as I lift a hesitant hand, tracing a path mid-thigh to hip, using my fingernails to raise four rows of goose bumps on my leg as I emulate the marks I had seen on Al. Opening myself up to the experience, I watch as my hand glides over the area, carefully noting my body's reaction to the foreign method of stimulation, shivering once more as I unwilling respond to my own touch. I stop again, closing my eyes and force myself to relax. It had been Al who had taught me to enjoy my own sexuality. Remaining patient while I learned to take pleasure in not only his body but my own also. This is for both of us, I tell myself as I open my eyes and repeat the act again. Adding a small amount more pressure than before I trace another row of light scratches over the inside of my thigh, closer to my crotch this time, searching out the most sensitive area and purposely allowing my hand to then continue to travel upward toward my slowly stirring cock. Unable to ignore the heated flesh I take hold of it, slowing stroking myself, imagining Al as I do and the love I see in his eyes when he looks at me, the feel of his hands when he touches me.

The images I create aid my exercise and before very long I'm completely hard and my legs are becoming increasingly unsteady. I have to force myself to stop this time, my body moaning the loss the moment I retract my trembling hand. Glancing away from myself, naked and fully I erect I catch sight of my reflection yet again in the mirror in front of me, this time finding it near on impossible to hold my own regard. I look away, confused. This is not what I want, I think dropping both my hands to my sides. I don't want to go on; I can't, even though the heat radiating from between my legs demands I do. I had only sought to see if I could become aroused by using similar stimuli to what I knew Al had inflicted upon himself, and my experiment, if indeed that's what I have being performing, had proven I could. But only in very small doses, my mind insisted.

Holding my position for a moment or two longer I manage to calm myself. All thoughts of finishing what I have started dwindle along with my erection. Then pushing the truth of what I have been doing for the past few minutes forcibly from my mind, I cross the short distance to the shower stall, pausing to check the temperature of the running water before stepping under the spray.

I can't lather my still cooling body quick enough I realise as I add more soap to the washer and scrub my chest thoroughly. Washing away, I don't know what? _The remains of something that had felt good_ , my flesh echoes, though the admittance of that fact doesn't sit well at all with my conscience. I shouldn't feel this way I tell myself, I haven't done anything to be ashamed of, and yet I can't shake the feeling that I have.

Misjudging badly the next time I reach for the soap to re-lather the washer I send the slippery cake falling to the floor of the shower. Immediately bending to retrieve it I find myself suddenly suffering an unexpected bout of vertigo. Not given to such an occurrence I settle myself on my evenly placed feet, steadying the rest of my weight against the tiled wall, instinctively shutting my eyes to help me regain my balance. Opening them again slowly as the feelings of instability pass.

I'm still a little unsure of my legs even after the spinning in my head stops, deciding after another moments pause that I should stay where I am for a short while longer. The hot water won't last indefinitely however and I am very aware that Al will return soon and on that account I would much prefer he didn't find me still in the shower. I can't explain why.

I can see the soap in front of me and I reach down to retrieve it, rinsing the excess lather from the now sodden cake under the shower beating gently over me. My rational mind tells me Al would understand if I told him what I had done in his absence; that he wouldn't be angry, maybe a little surprised, but certainly not angry with me. Maybe when we have a chance to talk I will tell him, I consider as I begin to soap my lower body. At least he would know that I was open to the idea on that level and it would be a starting point from which we could work from. But truthfully I don't know where to start from, what to say and I guess in all fairness to both Al and myself I should simply wait, give myself the time to adjust I keep talking about before I promise something that I may not be able to deliver. I don't like the way I've been feeling since Al told me about his needs, the tangled emotions that calm me one minute and then disturb me the next and honestly the more I think about it, the more confused I become.

Reaching between my legs to finish washing I am once more struck with the feeling that my world around me is tilting. It's strange and extremely disconcerting, I don't remember being afflicted with vertigo or anything similar before I started leaping and its sudden onset now is very unsettling. Everything around me, including the tiled wall of the shower cubical appears to be slowly turning, gaining momentum. I drop the soap, reaching almost blind from the loss of control, for the walls that I know are to my left and in front of me.

Understanding is relative to intellect I was taught. Acceptance of fact through education or experience is the way each individual learns. An ever moving passage from the darkness of ignorance into the light of knowledge.

Safety crouched on the floor of my shower there is no time to even try to fathom what is actually occurring and I am suddenly aware that I don't need to. For not only are my familiar surroundings tilting and apparently folding around me, time itself also appears to have taken on a more physical form. Assaulting my senses at a sickening rate now, as they had not so many months ago, are sounds, smells, and a multitude of images manifesting and continually changing. One after another coming into focus for the briefest of seconds and then evolving into something else. Images from the past, of time long spent. I know them all, because I had seen all the faces, towns and cities that coil within my conscious mind making me once more part of history as I remember each with perfect clarity. 

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Sam," I choke out, retracting my hand and taking a quick inventory for any signs that he has actually hurt himself. I know better though; this isn't about falling down in the shower. No, unfortunately I know only too well that this is what had been lying quietly under the surface last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for the disclaimer and notes. 
> 
> Also, I have just realised that I failed to post all of chapter 8 when I uploaded it last week and as a result I have had to re-estimate the number of chapters.

_**Al** _

Jesus I hate this, the whole thing with Sam has turned us both into nervous wrecks I reflect, pulling the brim of my hat down to protect my eyes from the early morning sunshine as I step outside. I honestly didn't mean to lose my cool like that. I know Sam's seen it before, but this is definitely not the way I wanted to start today; leaving him the moment he woke up to go and pick up the bloody mail of all things. He had a rough night, we both did but Sam has always been the one that needed reassurance after an argument. Yeah I know he'd say it was me, but we've never had a night like the one we have just shared and I understand he wants to stay close. We're going out to the house later, mostly to discuss what is needed before we can move in, but I also know he has questions. Don't get me wrong I know it's necessary that we continue talking about what I have told him. I just wish we didn't have to traipse half way across the state to do it.

Anyway, I've agreed to go so as soon as I find out what's in the mail and take care of the paper work I should have finished yesterday after the committee left, we'll spend the rest of the day out there. Maybe it won't be so bad, at least we'll have some privacy and a little time out from this place, I tell myself as I trod across the sun-scorched ground leading to the main gate. The gravel sticks in the soles of my shoes so I am careful to avoid the make shift-path and keep up a steady pace until I round the last of the cinder block buildings and see the security hut looming in the distance. It is not far now, only a couple of hundred meters or so and I can already see the guard stepping out of the shelter to greet me. There is a van parked just outside the gate and the driver's side door swings open as I approach.

I return the young marines salute as I pass him by and move to the gate to where the driver of the van is waiting for me, clip board and mail satchel in hand.

"Admiral Albert Calavicci?" He inquires warily.

"Yeah. You got something for me?"

The delivery guy seems a little uncertain, keeps looking me up and down. Rude son of a bitch, I think as I wait for him to respond. Realising as his scrutiny continues that his hesitation has probably got to do with how I'm dressed. It's happened before. I don't have time for this bullshit though so I reach around and pull my wallet out, figuring he wants some identification. Unfolding the billfold exposes my latest defence issued I D, which I offer him, hoping it will prompt some action.

It works and after taking a good long look at the insides of my wallet and then another at me he nods and I flip it shut and slide it back into my trouser pocket. Life shouldn't be this bloody complicated I think as he finally hands me the official looking envelope that he has removed from the mail satchel. Pushing the clipboard, he has with him toward me and indicating with his pen where he wants me to sign before I even get a chance to take a proper look at what I have. I do the deed, quickly, not overly interested in how it looks and turn my attention back to the envelope in my hand. Only mildly surprised to see it's from the Naval department and clearly marked private and confidential.

My expectations for the day begin a steady decline and my heart sinks ever so slightly as I turn away, mumbling my thanks to both men as I begin my short journey back toward the Project's main buildings and to Sam. The very last thing I need at this point in time is to have to deal with the Navy and its antiquated crap. I don't know what's in the letter and I don't want to know.

Clutching it tightly in my hand I carry the standard size envelope approximately half the distance back before I come to the conclusion that no matter what it is, I will have to deal with it sooner or later and I might as well just get it over with. I stop alongside the gravel path, glancing over my shoulder just in time to see the mail van slowly navigating the rough terrain beside the main road as its driver finally manages to turn the vehicle around and then head on back down the road from whence it came. Good riddance, I toss in the general direction of the departing van, delaying for a few moments longer what I know is unavoidable in the long run.

Looking back down at the envelope in my hand I turn it over a couple of times, examining it thoroughly. Usually if there's something coming my way I get a phone call beforehand, warning me long before anything official arrives. Not this time though and I find myself imagining all manner of things, all revolving around my relationship with Sam as I stare down at the sealed envelope in my hands. I'm being ridiculous I tell myself, wasting time when I don't have any to spare. Tearing open one side I carefully extract what turns out to be a single sheet of paper. Unfolding the page, I quickly read over the contents of the brief correspondence, squinting in the bright morning sunshine as I re-read it twice before I actually understand what I am seeing. Under my name, date of birth, which I think is a little odd because I don't remember that being included in any past communication and the usual cut to the chase introductory bullshit that comes with all dealings through official channels are three dates. Dates of my proposed and approved retirement from the United States Navy.

They are giving me a choice I realise, which is big of them considering all my years of services, but none of it means squat when you reach sixty-five these days and even though I'm pissed I also know that this had been coming, I just chose to ignore the inevitable with everything else going on. I don't know if this has anything to do with Sam and me or not and I think that's the part that bothers me the most. Because along with the other changes to policy, the current trend of "don't ask and don't tell" this could simply be the only way to ensure I leave the Navy under acceptable circumstances. I get to keep my pension and they get to save face. I sigh, expelling some of my anger left over from having to drag my butt out here in the first place. Well I don't care what they think, I tell myself glancing down at the letter again, if this is how it's going to be played, then fine. I'll talk to Sam when I get back and we'll chose one of the dates and that will be the end of it. No more hiding, no more pretending. The whole goddamn world can know for all I care, I decide refolding the page and slipping it back into its envelope.

So, one problem solved and I wasn't even trying I mutter aloud as I renew my path back to Sam, tucking the now folded letter into my back pocket as I pick up my pace a little. I should be relieved that this has happened, that the decision I've been trying to make ever since Sam came home has been made for me. Taken it out of my hands so to speak, giving me time to focus on more important aspects of my life. It's gotta be Sam of course, he's the most important thing to me, has been since pretty much from the moment we met. God, I love him. Everything about him. With me retired we can have that life he keeps talking about. The one where we follow whichever road our research takes us. Okay so I know things are a little unsure with us at the moment, but I gotta believe we'll work it out. I'll talk about whatever he wants if that's what it takes, today and every day he wants me around. The Project still needs an administrator, I remind myself. Case closed. Lots to look forward to. Still even as I reassure myself I can't help feeling as if I have simply outlived my usefulness. That all the years I spent as a P.O.W and on active service don't amount to a hill of beans when you reach retirement age.

My mind wanders as I walk, going from one issue to another and back again. I can't decide what I think is the real reason behind this timely reminder and I guess it doesn't matter, it all boils down to the same thing, I'm meant to just step aside now and make room for the younger men and women coming up the ranks.

I feeling decidedly pissed off again and my loosely reined anger reasserts itself once more as I make the last turn; it's frustration really, which helps dissipate the unwanted feeling once I identify it, but only just. An image of the good Doctor Beeks pops in to my head, my ever-vigilant reminder to breathe deeply in situation like these, which of course is what I know I need to do right now.

I force myself to stop, taking a few minutes’ just leaning against the cinder block wall at the very end of the facility while I allow the rest of my frustration to evaporate. I don't want Sam to have to deal with me like this; I want today to be calm and as problem free as possible. God knows we both need it. But I also know that most of how I'm feeling revolves not only around the Navy wanting me out, which reminds me, I think absently, I have an apology to make to Verbena. And along with everything else I need to do today I also have to make the time to deliver it to her before Sam and I leave for the house. I feel like a heel, accusing her of talking to Sam behind my back. It still amazes me that she knew my secrete, but the truth is she knows a lot about what's been happening to me for more years than I care to think about.

Feeling every year of my age and wishing I could actually do something about the news I have just received I take a couple more cleansing breaths, push my hat back a little I square my shoulders and then continue on my way.

\----*----

Our quarters are quiet when I let myself back in. The breakfast bar has been cleared and the living room is deserted. Calling out to Sam as I remove the letter from my back pocket, extracting the single page from the envelope I drop it and my fedora on to the entrance table.

There no answer from Sam, which I think is a little strange until I move further into ours rooms, carrying with me the piece of paper I know he will want to see, noting the freshly made bed and the closed bathroom door. I can hear the water running from behind the closed door so I knock once and call out, letting him know I'm back, raising my voice a little to compensate for the sound of the shower. I wait, glancing down at the letter I'm holding, wondering how Sam is going to take the news. Most likely he'll be relieved, I think, folding it in half again and shoving it into my jacket pocket. No answer again, which for reasons I can't explain send a feeling of uncertainty through me. I don't want to interrupt Sam, but as I stand waiting a little while longer for any indication that he has heard me the feeling inside me grows. Pressing my ear against the door I call out louder, I can hear something else above the heavy stream of water hitting the shower pan but I just can't quite make it out. I try the knob and thankfully find it unlocked.

Easing the door open I can see exactly where the sound is emanating from. It's Sam, curled up on the floor of the shower recess, sobbing his heart out. My first thought is that he has fallen, injuring himself somehow in my absence. Okay so that doesn't explain the crying, I think as go to him, but the last few days have been pretty bad with one thing or another and I also know that he's feeling pretty insecure at the moment. This morning's incident is a perfect example; I reflect leaning over him to turn the shower off. By the looks of things, I gather he's tried to do it himself but hasn't quite managed it. Giving the tap one extra twist the water ceases to fall and I bend down to him, my throat closing over at the sight of him pressed against the shower wall. He looks utterly horrified; hiding most of his tear streaked face from me as he recoils from the hand I place cautiously on his shoulder. 

"Sam," I choke out, retracting my hand and taking a quick inventory for any signs that he has actually hurt himself. I know better though; this isn't about falling down in the shower. No, unfortunately I know only too well that this is what had been lying quietly under the surface last night. "What's happened, love?" I ask, feeling completely ill-equipped to deal with him and the situation between us that just seems to be getting worse. Sam's very fragile right now and even though I had been hurt by what he said last night I knew that it was only the beginning of him coming to terms with what I had told him.

"Let me help you, baby." I beg, kneeling down so that I can see him better and soaking my trousers in the process. "Please Sam, tell me what's happened so that I know what to do."

There's no recognition from him at all and I wonder as I reach over and pull a towel off the rail to cover him with if I should just go and ring Verbena. She's probably the best person to talk to him at the moment and I'm getting the distinct impression, judging from the way he's got himself pushed up against the wall that my presence is adding to his grief. The idea doesn't make me feel very good about myself but I also know it's a real possibility. I want to comfort Sam, but if he won't let me then I need to find someone that can.

Offering him the towel I decide to try one more time before I call Verbena. "Here, Sam take this, your shivering. Come on kid, dry yourself off a bit." I say, trying to persuade him to take the towel from me. I know he can hear me, but he won't even look at me so I lean in and drape the towel over his mid-section, figuring he'd take it when he was ready.

Sitting back on my heels I regard my young lover, his entire body convulsing each time a sob breaks from his heaving chest. Oh Sam, what I have I done to you? I ask myself. He is a beautiful man, not that I would ever probably tell him so, though I think it every day. Tall and handsome to the point that every now and then I gotta pinch myself to think that he loves me and the sight of him now, curled up like a frightened child is too much to take. I find myself looking away as I had while he was leaping, when I knew there was no more I could do for him. I hated it then, hated the feelings of helplessness that revisit me now.

Looking back up at him I come to a decision. He obviously not injured so I can risk leaving him for a minute or two while I make the call I need to, maybe then we can find out what's going on.

Struggling to get back up again I work both my kneecaps to promote circulation and straighten myself out. Kneeling on the tiled floor is bloody uncomfortable and the stiffness in my limbs only serves to remind me of my age and how damn useless I feel. 

Once I am as limbered-up as I am going to get I glance at Sam again and to my surprise he meets my eyes. Thank God is the only thing I can think at that moment. Not what dropping to my knees again would do to me or anything else, I'm too damn relieved. There is a glimmer of recognition from Sam and that's all I care about.

"Sam, are you alright? God, you had me worried." I blurt out; kneeling once more in front of him and reaching back into the stall to gently coax him from the corner. He's limp and even though I am encouraging him the whole time he doesn't help a great deal, but eventually I get him turned around. Facing me he drops his eyes again.

"What is it, love?" I prompt gently, lifting his wet hair out of his eyes and then carefully arrange it in his usual style, more or less. He stiffens again when I touch his face and there's not a lot I can do with his hair until its dry so I settle with what I've already managed and release him. He's still not talking and my elation is fading quickly. Okay, so I know I have to call Verbena but I figure I can at least try and get him out of the shower and dressed first.

"Hey you," I cajole, scooting down a little so I can meet his eyes again. "Inquiring minds want to know what's going on." I give him my best smile this time, hoping it will get a reaction. Anything at this point would do, but it doesn't work and all I get in return is a glare that makes me want to cut my heart out. This can't only be about the problems we're having; I think backing off a little. There's something else going on here and I honestly don't have clue what it could be. I'm a part of it though, that much is clear. The way Sam is looking at me speaks of complete and utter betrayal, the likes of which I have never seen before and it frightens me, pure and simple. There is no other way to describe it.

"Why…didn't you…tell me?" He asks. His voice hoarse. A new stream of tears already beginning to fall unchecked down his sorrow-ridden face.

I'm still trying to process everything that is happening, that has happened to us over the last few days and I truly don't understand what he is referring to, although I get the distinct feeling I should. I want to reach for him, but frankly I'm afraid of what might happen if I do. I swallow hard, forcing the lump that has firmly wedged in my throat down.

"Tell you what?" I ask gently.

"What he did to me…" He sniffs, valiantly trying to recover from this new wave of tears. Straightening his back as his hand grasps the towel laying in his lap, knotting it around his fist. "Why didn't you tell me…that he raped me too?"

I feel like I've been hit. Honestly like I've been punched in the gut and had the wind knocked completely out of me and I can't catch my breath fast enough to keep up with what is going on around me as I stare into Sam's pleading eyes. I can't believe what I'm hearing, or maybe I just don't want to. How, my mind demands and why. Why now? Jesus, why now?

"I couldn't Sam," I tell him, shaking my head. My God, this is my worst nightmare realised, I think as I try to regain my footing and stand up.

Steadying myself against the side of the shower recess once I'm up I manage to finally catch my breath. Sam is crying harder now, his body shuddering with every ragged breath he draws. God I wish I could simple make the last few days go away, I think as I look down at him, but I know I can't. It's obvious he has remembered what I have prayed he never would and there is absolutely nothing I can say now or ever that will change the fact that while he was leaping he had spent three days fighting for the life of a young Private named Jeffrey Marsh. Or that during that time he was taken against his will by a man who I had thought I loved.

I don't waste any more time wondering what has brought on Sam's sudden recall of the most horrifying leap of the many he endured in the all years he was gone. I feel sick to my stomach, but I know above all else that I have to get Verbena.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My attention shifts momentarily from the man standing before me to the one waiting outside, listening, and speculating briefly on his current state. The devastation of leaving Sam had been utterly complete for Al, failure on every level possible in his eyes that he let Sam down in a way that could never be rectified. He had wept himself, I recalled, my focus once again returning to Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for the disclaimer and notes. This chapter discusses Sam's memories of his time spent with Tran and is told from Verbena's point of view.

_**Verbena** _

Forgoing my morning cup of tea or any other sustenance, I shower and dress as quickly as I can and then take the elevator three levels up to the surface. Al's phone call hadn't exactly woken me but I wasn't far off rising either, having spent a restless night concerned for both my friends. Leaving them alone last evening hadn't been easy but it had been necessary and once I had taken care of the notes that had required my attention in my office I had found that the majority of my night had been spent in deep contemplation around both their well-beings. 

Pulling myself together on route to the quarters Al has shared with Sam since his return, I tried to imagine the state I would find both men in. Al had to his credit, sounded reasonably calm when we had spoken and from what I could gather, he and Sam had spent the previous night as I had hoped, discussing his closely guarded secret. I was relieved on one level, that after so many months of encouraging Al to be forthcoming with his now lover, that he had finally told Sam. But it wasn't under the best circumstances however and it was this current crisis in Al's treatment that had me most concerned. 

Al didn't go into details about what had been said, preferring I felt at the time to almost bypass the subject entirely to get to the main reason for calling me and I had learnt that neither had slept well as a result. I wasn't surprised. He had then gone on to inform me that something else had happened, and he, meaning Sam, had 'remembered'. Remembered what precisely hadn't taken a Rhodes scholar to figure out. There was nothing to the best of my knowledge that Al feared more than Sam remembering the last time he had leaped into Al's life. 

I could almost hear the cogs turning in Al's head as he spoke. The snatched breaths and slow steady release of each that came at the beginning and end of each sentence. Along with the colourful array of curse words he was most likely reciting to himself as he struggled to tell me what had happened, carefully keeping the terror at bay while he hung on desperately for the time it took to control what I knew wouldn't last. It was a façade, carefully constructed but a ruse just the same, and I knew even though he would dispute it that Al needed my help almost as much as he protested on Sam's behalf. 

Approximately fifteen minutes after I received the call I reach my destination. Raising my arm as I approach and curling my right hand into a small fist to knock, the door of Sam and Al's quarter’s rises in front of me. Slightly taken back I lower my arm, expecting to see Al waiting for me, but find instead that he is nowhere to been seen. Not one to enter without invitation I wait at the threshold for the count of five. 

"Ziggy," I say aloud, directing my question to the ceiling of the corridor. 

"Good morning Doctor Beeks, the Admiral is expecting you."

I'm not sure whether I am relieved or not by Ziggy's apparent awareness of the situation taking place within. The fact is she has either been eavesdropping again or Al has warned the Project's hybrid computer of my impending arrival. It doesn’t matter either way I decide stepping forward, calling out to Al as the door then slides shut behind me.

Walking through the living area I head toward the closed bedroom door, glancing around the neat apartment as I do, noting one of Al's jackets slung over the back of one of the sofas, obviously cast off. Stopping alongside the sofa I pick up the jacket, and call out again. The expensive item of clothing in my hands is damp, explaining why at least it has been discarded. 

The door to my right opens and Al greets me less than a moment later just as I am re-spreading his coat over the back of the sofa to air. He looks extremely bedraggled, but very relieved to see me. Dressed for the day in an outfit that would match the jacket beside where I am standing perfectly. Except, instead of appearing immaculate as he usually does his silk shirtsleeves are now rolled to the elbow and the front of the patterned garment is also clearly wet judging from the way it clings and puckers and I wonder in passing how he came to be in the condition he is. He also looks very close to collapsing I realise. What little control he has maintained while dealing with Sam alone has almost reached its limits. 

"Thanks for coming, Verbena." He says quietly, easing the bedroom door closed behind him. "Sam's lying down." He adds stepping forward and then silently ushers me around the side of the sofa. 

"It's fine Al." I tell him; taking the seat I am offered. Answering his question and then indicating that I would be more comfortable if he sat also. "How is he?" I inquire, watching my old friend closely.

Al shakes his head as he sits, a little reluctantly I think. Always one to think better on his feet he appears anxious, jittery perched on the very edge of the opposite sofa, his arms wrapped around his upper torso as he stares past me to the door he has most recently closed. 

I do want to check on Sam but I feel that if he needed my immediate care Al would say so. For the time being I think it's best if I speak to Al and gather a more detailed description of what has transpired since I was here last before I see to Sam. 

"Start at the beginning Al," I encourage calmly. "Tell me what happened after I left. You mentioned that you told Sam about your masochistic tendencies." 

Al's close attention of the door behind me is suddenly altered at my recap of what he has already told me. Sitting up a little he finally turns that same stern regard to me, scoffing as he speaks. 

"You make it sound so normal, Verbena. Masochists, I'm a fucking freak and you sit there and talk about it like I have a cold or something," he remarks, shaking his head as if he doesn't believe what he's hearing. 

I don't react; it's best I've learnt if I don't with Al. He is clearly running near to empty as far as patience goes and I don't want to distract him from the situation at hand by paying into his own inner anger. He's not offended by my diagnosis of his condition or the terms in which we discuss it. It's the truth. But I do understand; only too well in fact, having spent the better part of this last year treating him, that coming to terms with that particular facet of himself has never been an easy task for Al. 

"Jesus. Yes, I told him," he adds a moment later, his tone less sarcastic than before. "Or at least I tried to explain it. I don't know, we talked for hours about when it first started and how I've been dealing with it for the past twenty years. Sam got pretty upset with me a few times." Al tells me, his words trailing off as he finishes. 

There is a story behind his last statement, I'm sure of it. But now I decide is not the time to delve to deeply into Al's rendition of it. Later perhaps, when we have dealt with the effects of Sam's memories I will ask Al about it.

Slumping back against the sofa, and dropping his arms to his sides he sighs heavily, clearly exhausted. "I know it's only Sam trying to understand. He needs to understand Verbena." Al informs me slowly, his chin pressed to his chest as he glances over at me, apparently allowing himself a moment to relax.

"Yes." I reaffirm. "Sam is an extremely intelligent man, his whole life has been spent learning and understanding the multitude of all there is to know. It's how he copes," I add.

Al doesn't comment further. We are both aware of how Sam Beckett's mind works. Basically if he understands the elements of a problem he will simply integrate it with what he already knows and move on to the next, continually adding to his already extraordinary intellect, growing and evolving. 

"After I told Sam last night and he didn't just throw me out on the spot I figured he just needed some time to adjust. That we'd be better for it in the long run." This said as Al straightens and returns his gaze to the door briefly. "I was honest, Verbena." He says looking back at me again. Holding my eyes seriously. "I didn't ask him for anything. I don't expect anything from him or for him to change a lifetime of ideals just because I tell him there's more to me than he thought."

I believe Al. For a man not known for his honesty I can't say that there have been many occasions when I have found him to actually be dishonest with me. And on none of the occasions that I have, has his relationship with Sam or the man himself played a part of any evasion of the truth. 

"No Al, none of us can be expected to change our thinking overnight. Like most things in life, change of any kind takes time." 

"Well it's not gonna happen Verbena, not now." 

"Because Sam remembered leaping into you and what you both went through in Commander Tran's camp?" I query, wondering if perhaps I should of asked Al what he had meant when he had told me Sam had been 'upset' with him.

"Yes, because he remembered," he confirms. 

I find the acceptance in Al's tone frighteningly resolved. But it is certainly not an uncommon occurrence in concerns to this subject, I remind myself. I press on. 

"Tell me about that Al," I ask. Increasingly aware that the reason that I am here is to see to Sam in regards to those very memories. "What happened this morning?"

Leaning forward I watch curiously as the dark shadow of the past falls over Al's already grim face. He hesitates before answering me, obviously going over in his mind more than what had occurred this morning.

"I went out earlier to collect a letter that had been delivered for me at the main gate." He explains slowly, pausing once more to listen, I think for any sounds from the bedroom before continuing. "I was a little worried about him this morning, but I figured it was like I said, he needed time absorb everything we'd discussed. Both of us, had said a few things last night that had hurt and I know Sam was feeling pretty shaky about some of it." 

"How so?" I inquire, needing clarification for the term 'shaky'. 

Thankfully Al seems to understand my curiosity; his concern for Sam outweighing his own awkwardness in regards to what had been said between them, and he answers me without delay.

"Sam asked me last night to tell him when I wanted to…needed the release," he returns, carefully diverting his eyes as he goes on. "He said it was because he didn't want to have to worry about me going elsewhere. And knowing Sam I guess he probably didn't mean it the way it sounded, but it hurt Verbena and I got angry." 

I could imagine the scene Al was describing, imagine both he and Sam saying things and reacting in ways they wouldn't usually. Stress and uncertainty playing havoc with both their complex personalities, pushing each of them to the very limit of their tolerance. 

I nod my understanding. Sitting back a little further in my seat, I fold my arms across my chest, taking a moment to consider what I have been told and remember the previous evening. Recalling as I do, the behaviours I had observed exhibited by my two friends. 

Wishing I'd stayed last night won't change the fact that I couldn’t; not really, they are both adults dealing with an adult situation. Al is mostly correct I decide, shaking my head and unfolding my arms, Sam probably didn't intend to insinuate that Al would do what he had done in the past and go to someone else when the need arose. But I can also imagine that Sam would feel considerably guilty by the accusation whether it had been meant or not and I was very concerned about that. What lengths I wondered, would Sam go to understand Al's need? How far would he press himself to give Al what he desired? The possibilities were endless; I conclude quickly, knowing just how deeply Sam loves him. 

"Go on, Al. Please." I say, edging forward on the sofa again and sparing a glance over my shoulder to the closed bedroom door. Catching a mirroring look of concern in Al's eyes as I turn back again.

"I don't know what happened while I was gone, but when I got back Sam was in the shower sobbing his heart out," Al tells me. "He wouldn't talk to me to start with and then just when I was about to give you a call he settled a bit and asked me why I hadn't told him about what Tran had done to him." The last comes out choked, astonished. "How could I Verbena? How could I tell him, especially when he knows how I felt about the man who hurt him?"

Al's question has been asked before, numerous times in fact and never once have I had an acceptable answer for him. Unfortunately, this time is no different, I realise as I regard him sympathetically across the short expanse separating us. 

"It's never been up to you Al." I begin, trying to alleviate some of his anguish. "Sam remembered all the leaps when he came home and then the memories apparently faded from his consciousness. I have never really understood why that happened, but if you like I do have a theory or two that I will share with you once I have had a chance to talk to him."

Al nods half-heartily at what I have said, but I take it as agreement that we will continue this conversation once I have taken care of his lover.

Standing up Al rises also. "I'd like to see Sam now," I tell him. Inquiring as I slip around the side of the sofa and we move toward the bedroom door together whether Sam knows that I am coming to see him or not.

"Yes I told him, Verbena. I think it was the only way I was gonna get him out of the shower." Al answers quietly. Explaining at least the condition of his clothing I think, following him into the darkened bedroom.

Heavy drapes are drawn against the early morning sun when we enter, protecting its resting occupant. Sam is curled on top of the made bed, his knees drawn up but not quite meeting his chest. Wrapped in a light cotton robe he is clearing wearing nothing else, although it is obvious Al has made certain that Sam's dignity is still intact. I spare Al a glance as we stand together at the foot of the bed, acknowledging the care he has already given Sam, but he doesn't return my gaze, he is to fixated with the silent man on the bed to notice anything else. 

"Sam." Al says gently, using a voice only reserved for the man to whom he is now addressing and small children. "Verbena's here and she wants to talk to you, love."

At the sound of his own name Sam opens his previously closed eyes, gathering the folds of his robe as he turns to regard both Al and I where we stand. His eyes shifting from Al to myself and then back again.

"Hello Sam," I offer casually. 

He appears a little disorientated, a little boy lost, I think but does manage a hushed 'hi' in response as he pulls himself up into a sitting position.

"Would you like it if we talked?" I ask him, strolling around the side of the bed and sitting on its edge. 

Sam nods slowing, shifting his gaze once more to the man standing over my shoulder, giving me an opportunity to take a closer look at him, and I do just that. Sam face is dry though his eyes are red and swollen. He opens his mouth a couple of time, obviously trying to moisten a dry mouth as he drags his attention from Al back to me. 

"Do you need a drink of water Sam?" I inquire. Knowing very well that if he'd been crying as hard as Al had indicated then his throat and mouth were most likely dry from the exertion. Reaching over and gently placing one of my hands over his, mostly to check his skin temperature’ but as a means to comfort also I sense the tension radiating from within.

"Yes, thank you." Sam whispers, casting his gaze downward now. His eyes fixed on my much darker hand laying a top of his. I can feel his efforts not to pull back, the slight tremors as his long fingers are forced to remain still beneath my own. 

Surprised, but having already ascertained that Sam is clearly uncomfortable being touched, I retract my hand. In fact, I think, sitting back a little, the general feeling in the room is decidedly uneasy and becoming increasing more so as each moment passes. The tension between my friends is obvious; giving credence to Al's long held fear that Sam would never truly be able to understand Al's need and the feelings he still had for the man who had raped them both. So I am very relieved when Al leaves Sam and I alone without prompting, taking his cue to get Sam what he needs. 

Sam doesn't lift his eyes even after Al has gone; folding his hands in his lap he appears thoughtful. His breathing is steady I note, but his complexion is much paler than usual I realise as my own eyes slowly adjust to the dim lighting. The shock of so many memories on top of the one I'm here to discuss have understandably shaken him and more specifically, judging by the way he has physically closed off, brought back the emotional reactions to the attack. 

It has not been many years since I last dealt with a rape survivor but my own feelings on the subject have not altered even marginally. Simply there is nothing more confronting for me than to try to comfort someone who has had been both emotionally and sexually violated. The last time had been a younger version of Al and before that a woman who Sam had leaped into after the fact. On both occasions I found myself re-leaning all I had been taught in regards to physical trauma and secretly wishing I could be released, at least temporarily, from my Hippocratic oath. There are days even now when Al and I discuss Tran that I find myself thinking that if the man wasn't already dead I'd… Clamping down hard on my current line of thought I refuse to let myself to once more to be caught up in the violence surrounding Sun Lee Tran. I'll not be a party to it, I tell myself. Shaking off the lingering feelings of anger. It's not helpful to anyone if I lose my objectivity, least of all Sam.

Firstly, I think glancing away from the very quiet man beside me and around the room, I am too close. Sitting on the bed would be okay in other circumstances, but I need to give Sam his personal space and allow him his right to maintain it as much as possible. 

There is a straight back chair in the corner of the room and I stand to retrieve it. Speaking low to Sam as I do, explaining what I'm doing and checking back every couple of steps to gauge his acceptance of what is going on. I have to remember that it is imperative that he feels safe now and that his right to object to anything that he is not comfortable with is adhered to.

Al returns just as I am setting the chair down next to the bed and immediately offers the glass he has brought with him to me. Taking it from the older of the two men I in turn offer it to Sam. As expected he carefully extracts from it from my grasp using both of his hands. Sipping at the cool water he is watchful I think to not look at either Al or myself. Al on the other hand pays close attention to his lover, clearly concerned he appears at a loss now as what to do next for him. I would like Al to stay while I talk to Sam, allow him to offer his support and give Sam the opportunity to accept what is available to him. Though it is quite apparent to me that Sam is very unlikely to say very much while Al remains. 

Sam returns the glass to me when it’s empty, still carefully avoiding Al's eyes.

"It might be a good idea to refill this Al." I say holding the glass out to the man looking hopefully at his silent partner.

Al doesn't say anything as he nods and takes it from me, disappearing into the bathroom and returning only seconds later. The glass now full, he reaches past me and sets it down on the bedside table closest to Sam. 

"I'll wait outside." Al then announces, looking over at me and now appearing very much like a man who knows that his presence is no longer required. Regret, amongst other emotions shining brightly in dark sad eyes. "Let me know if you need anything else, Verbena." He adds, hesitating awkwardly by the side of the bed. 

"I will. Thank you." I tell him, reaching over and lightly rubbing his arm. Hoping he knows that his assistance so far has been invaluable and I will indeed let him know if there is more he can do. He seems to, I think, nodding at what I have said, his eyes drifting back towards Sam.

"I love you, kid." He tells him quickly, then departing without a backward glance to either of us, carefully closing the bedroom door behind him.

I wait for a moment before I go on; Sam's current attire is another factor to be considered before I start. He is suitably covered but I can understand that he may feel a little more comfortable if I suggest he dress first. 

"Are you happy to talk as you are Sam or would you prefer I leave you alone so you can get dressed?" I ask, holding the back of the chair, ready to pull it away if he agrees.

"No, it's okay." He says quietly and then adds finally meeting my eyes as he pulls the folds of his robe further together. "As long as you don't mind, that is?" 

"Of course not, Sam." I tell him, slipping around the chair and taking my seat beside him. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable before we started."

He nods at what I say, looking away. "I'm okay." 

"Are you?"

No answer, but no argument either, I note. 

"Al tells me you regained some of memories from when you were leaping Sam, and that you were understandably frightened by what you remember. Can we talk about that?" I begin. 

"I guess." He shrugs, saying no more.

Sam is extremely non-committal, giving nothing away as he sits quietly seemingly staring at his own hands, occasionally fingering the fabric of his robe. I watch him for a while, patiently giving him a few minutes to gather his thoughts, hoping he will open up to me. I have a number of questions, which of course only Sam can answer, but I am inclined to not rush him. 

Widening my gaze as to not add pressure to Sam and inadvertently forcing him to speak before he is ready I settle myself a little more comfortably in the chair for the duration. Crossing my legs and laying my own hands loosely in my lap, I wait. 

When Sam first came home there had still been gaps in his memory, I ponder. Mostly they had revolved around his pre leap memory, but his leap memory had also been affected. Slowly, over the course of two days he had remembered the years he'd been gone and the holes for them and the years prior to that had all been filled in. We had discussed the leaps, Sam and I, quite intently actually as part of the debriefing process that had been created while he'd been gone. Basically it was like other processes to deal with critical incidents, it had been designed to evaluate how he had been affected by leaping, both physically and emotionally. In short, how he had felt about the people he had helped and how did he feel about that part of his life coming to an end. 

It was a tremendous adjustment to make, being home in his own time and his own life. But as I reflect now, chancing a brief glance at Sam, he had appeared to make to transition without notifiable mention. Of course I would have been duty bound to report any diminished level in intellect or sudden medical condition which had manifested itself, but none of those things had occurred. His relationship with Al had helped provide the emotional support he had needed at the time and gave Sam another focus along with that of the Project. There had been the understandable frustration of losing a part what he had remembered after the debriefing had concluded, but we had spoken about it and it has only been recently that he had showed any signs at all that he was not coping with the loss. But that too, I believed was associated with his relationship with Al. 

"I have some questions." I say after a few minutes have past, leaning forward a little in my chair and then ask. "Is it okay with you if I ask them?" 

After a brief consideration I receive another non-committal shrug and I forge ahead. "Do you remember that you and I have discussed the leaps before, Sam? That when you first came home we went over them all individually?" I query gently.

This time I gain a nod of acknowledgment. "Good." I tell him, pleased at least that I have his attention and that he does appear to want to contribute to the conversation. "And then when we met again to talk you told me that you remembered nothing at all about that time?" 

Another nod. 

"But you do now, is that right?" 

"Yes." He whispers, lifting his eyes a little, but not quite meeting mine.

"What do you remember, Sam? Can you tell me?"

Straightening his posture, I watch as hooded eyes drift shut briefly and then open again. "Everything I guess. I'm not sure." He pauses, swallowing and considering for a moment. "There are times when I don't think I was anywhere, but I don't know what that means." Clearly disappointed Sam drops his regard once more.

Interesting, I think sitting back again. There had been the down times we had experienced here when the body securely housed in the waiting room under constant surveillance had remained no more than a shell. Alive but showing only the most basic signs of life. Times we had come to believe here at the Project when God held Sam Beckett's precious life in his loving hands. Planning where to send him next and allowing his chosen one time to recover from the challenges he had already faced. It wasn't an easy acceptance to come to when for many of us, if not all, science had cast such doubt over faith and religion. But putting scepticism aside it had been the only conclusion that could be reached under the circumstances after everything else had been dismissed. 

"It's okay," I tell Sam. Choosing not to distract him from what he does recall for a theosophical discussion on the existence of God and what part he may or may not have played in leaping him through time. "And until this morning you have had no other recollections of the years you were leaping?" 

Sam shakes his head, still looking down.

"None what so ever?" I ask again, pressing I know, but I want to be certain that this is the first and only occurrence where Sam's leap memory had been restored. Not that I actually thought he would keep anything as important as his lost years from me, but it was possible that he has been remembering for a while now and not realised what had been happening. 

"No." He answers; reaching over and taking the glass of water Al has left for him. Lifting it to his mouth, I wait until he is finished and then returns the glass to surface of the bedside table. 

"Do you have any idea Sam about what might have brought on this sudden recall?" 

I sense the tension that had dissipated somewhat after Al's departure begin to emanate from Sam again, his eyes have lifted to mine momentarily, surprisingly, and then drifted past me to some point behind me. Twisting slightly in my chair to follow his gaze I realise that they are now fixed on closed bedroom door, reminding me of something Al had said earlier. 

"Does it have anything to do with what you and Al discussed last night?" I ask, looking back at Sam and catching the tiny glimmers of moisture forming in the corner of his eyes before he hurriedly wipes them dry. 

I have obviously hit a nerve and I know I need to allow Sam a moment to compose himself before I press him further. 

Searching around the room I spy a box of tissues sitting on the tall chest of drawers by the door. Standing I cross the short distance and retrieve the box and return them to Sam. Setting them down beside him on the bed, ready if he should need them.

"Talk to me Sam," I encourage again, sitting down.

"He doesn't want me Verbena." Sam sniffs once I have re-seated myself. This time meeting me eye-to- eye, pain pooling in his and spilling down his cheeks now. 

"Who Sam, Al?"

"He doesn't want me; he's never wanted me. It's always been Tran. Even when I was there…Jesus Verbena, he was defending him, what he did to me." Sam is crying hard by the time he finishes, seemingly unable to stop the steady rain of tears that fall without pause. Frustrated and obviously in pain, I watch, bracing myself for more. 

Wiping his eyes with heels of his hands Sam then throws his legs over the side of the bed, burying his face in his hands and shaking as if his heart were about to break.

It's a terrible sight, seeing this usually confident man tortured so. Slipping out of my chair I sit alongside Sam, taking him gently in my arms and soothing him as much I can. "Oh, Sam. It's not true," I tell him. "Al loves you and has for many years, not anyone but you Sam." I say stroking his back.

"No." He demands pulling out of the embrace I have him in and pushing away from me; pressing himself up against the headboard of the bed and turning to look at me again over his hitched shoulder. "I remember. Al was there, he knows what happened and still it's Tran he wants and not me. How could I have been so blind when he kept telling me what he'd gone through? How could I not have remembered? Oh God, Verbena what have I done?"

"What Sam? I don't understand." I say, holding my position and forcing myself to remain calm and not to reach for him. 

Pressing himself hard up against the headboard, Sam eyes plead with me, for answers, absolution, I think, though I can't imagine why Sam of all people would need to be absolved of anything. "What have you done Sam, tell me," I repeat, firmer than before.

"I trusted him." He gulps, sniffing again, clearly trying to catch his breath. "I trusted Al and all the time he knew everything. That's why he wouldn't make lo…fuck me when I asked him to." He spits, now attempting to stand up and keep himself covered at the same time. 

I don't react to Sam's uncharacteristic language, although I am slightly taken back by his sudden movement. There's not a lot of space between us now and I have to shimmy along the bed to give him room to move. He pushes the chair out of the way, knocking it over and then bends immediately to set it up again, holding the back as if to ground himself to something solid. His back and shoulders shaking from the effort to hold on, sobbing loudly.

He is grieving and his anger is a symptom of that grief, just as legitimate as the tears he has and will shed now and in the future. Under different circumstances I would encourage Sam to express himself, not that I want to dissuade him now, but his voice is likely carrying to the other room and I know it won't be long before it draws Al to the door. Not only do I not want Sam and I to be interrupted at this crucial point I would much prefer that Al didn't have to take the brunt of Sam's anger. 

Very slowly I stand, speaking quietly to the man bending himself further and further over the back of the chair. I feel my chest tighten as I offer what I can by way of comfort, feeling that it is only a dressing over a wound so open and so clearly painful.

"Sam." I hush gently, encouraging him to look at me. "Come, Sam. Come and sit down with me. We can talk; I want you to talk to me and for you to tell me what you remember. I want to be able to help you, Sam," I tell him. Carefully laying one hand on nape of his neck, massaging the tighten muscles at the base of his skull, very relieved when he doesn't flinch or pull away. But it is long agonizing moments before I feel the tension under my fingers slowly subside and Sam straightens, turning to face me. 

"He was there, Verbena." He whispers, pausing to moisten dry lips. "Al was with me. I remember he told me not to make the Commander angry and then he left me." 

The realisation that Al had not stayed with him when he had faced Tran is obviously difficult for Sam to accept. His eyes are drying but the terror and pain smouldering not far from the surface of them tells a very different story about what is in his heart. I remember seeing a very similar expression on Al face after he had closed the connection between Sam and himself during that dreadful leap. 

My attention shifts momentarily from the man standing before me to the one waiting outside, listening, and speculating briefly on his current state. The devastation of leaving Sam had been utterly complete for Al, failure on every level possible in his eyes that he let Sam down in a way that could never be rectified. He had wept himself, I recalled, my focus once again returning to Sam.

"Would you have preferred he stayed Sam?" I question and then offer, guiding him carefully to sit back down again on the edge of the bed. "I spoke to Al several times during the leap. It was a difficult decision to make but I know that leaving you alone at that time had been a call Al had made under extreme circumstances, what he thought was best for you."

"Do you think I should thank him for that, Verbena?" Sam demands, his usually handsome face contorting as he sneers each word. "Thank him for leaving me alone while that bastard forced himself down my throat and then raped me?" 

"No Sam, but it's not Al your angry at, you need to remember that. He loves you and wants to be able to help you now, as I do. Let me help you Sam."

"No." He says, shaking his head. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. I want to get away from here and from everything that he's touched." The anguish in Sam's words and eyes are absolute as he stands, pulling his clothing tightly around him. 

"I don't want him here, Verbena."

There is no need to ask Sam who he is referring to, I know it's Al and I feel saddened that Sam won't accept the support he has. I could force him to of course, but it won't be helpful if I pull rank on him. And besides I think, standing also, if I have to make a report to the committee it will not help Sam in the long run. Time will heal what he is feeling now, but I know from experience that once it's documented there will be no escape from the stigma. 

"What are you going to do?" I ask, watching as he pauses, eyeing the door.

"I'm leaving."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brief reprieve I had enjoyed last night after I had told him what I have been hiding from him all the months we've been lovers seems strangely surreal now, as if it hadn't occurred at all. Whereas the events of this morning are all too vivid to be anything other than the living nightmare I had always imagined the whole sordid truth would ultimately make of our lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for the disclaimer. This chapter is told from Al's point of view. It contains some violence and because things always get worse before they get better I will be posting chapter 12 later this weekend.

_**Al** _

Checking my watch is a waste of time, there isn't enough light even with the added assistance of the built in globe to see the small display on my wrist. I lower my arm, considering as a I do, if I really wanted to know exactly how long I have been waiting for Verbena to come and tell me what I've already figured out. It's over between Sam and I, for good this time. I'm just waiting for the final word now that will make it all official and then I'll…Oh God, I don't know who I'm trying to fool, I don't have a clue what I'm going to do. Honestly I feel like someone has reached inside of me and torn my heart out, it all hurts so much.

Burying my face in my hands, I contemplate the last few hours and the bloody and broken remains of my heart, the pieces of which seem to be strewn in the wake of my last encounter with Sam.

The brief reprieve I had enjoyed last night after I had told him what I have been hiding from him all the months we've been lovers seems strangely surreal now, as if it hadn't occurred at all. Whereas the events of this morning are all too vivid to be anything other than the living nightmare I had always imagined the whole sordid truth would ultimately make of our lives.

Sighing, I scrub at my face and then run the fingers of both my hands through my already dishevelled hair and sit back up again. Staring out into the solitary darkness of my quarters, recalling the events that have lead me back here to once more to live my life without Sam.

I waited for what felt like ages after Verbena came to talk to him this morning. Waited outside in the living room when it became clear that Sam didn't want me around while he talked to her. I was not happy about it, but I wasn’t sure what else to do for him. If Sam needed to be alone while they spoke, then I had to give him that, I had told myself. I know he was frightened and ashamed so I gave him his privacy; understanding only too well how he felt. I paced the carpet in the living room until I actually thought I could see it ware before my very eyes. Growing more frightened myself as the sounds of their voices rose several times and then quieted. Caught between staying put and just letting Verbena work with him and wanting to rush in and take Sam in my arms. But I already knew he didn't want that. Sam didn't want me to touch him, no, I remind myself, he'd made that very clear. He had flinched as I had tried to help from the shower stall as if my hands burnt him somehow, I recalled bitterly. Recoiling at every comfort I had tried to offer him until finally the task was complete and I had managed to deliver him, somewhat dryer than when I had first found him and wrapped in his robe to the relative sanctuary of the bedroom. Jesus it hurt to think about, then and now. But what was more painful, what hurt the most was after Sam had finished talking to Verbena he had sent her out to tell me I should leave. Damn it all, I'd been too stunned to argue. My greatest fear was coming true, I remembered thinking as I simply gathered my things, such as they were scattered around the living room and left.

I had foolishly thought of coming down here over the past few weeks as a retreat, ignoring the true reality of the cold empty rooms that actually surrounded me. Rooms, which had sheltered my weary body at the end of many a long lonely day for all the years before Sam came home. A place that was still mine, but had long since felt like anywhere I belonged. Just a place I could come and think about whatever Verbena and I had discussed after our sessions. A haven of sorts, providing me with the space I needed at the time that was away from Sam's seemingly continual questions on my progress. Progress, that seemed to have stalled at a point that I couldn't move past no matter how much it was discussed.

But sitting alone in the darkness of my quarters once more, both my hands now jammed between my closed knees to stop me from tearing my hair out I realise how mistaken I had been. The walls around me are no different to the ones which had kept me prisoner many years before.

I have to concentrate, to really focus on the present as I force myself to breathe through the overwhelming emotions that coil inside of me -- anger and pain like I have never felt before. Knowing very well that if I dwell too long on them I will not be able to stop myself from falling apart completely. I need to hang on just a little longer I tell myself, wait for Verbena and listen to what she has to say. I have to make sure that Sam is okay. He may not want me around, but I can't just pretend he doesn't mean as much to me as he does. I understand that we won't ever be lovers again, but we were friends long before Sam had even heard of Sun Lee Tran and I can't just give up on him. I know he's hurting, God I can feel it, I think, squeezing my eyes shut, wishing I could make the ache inside of me go away.

Casting my mind back I try to imagine anything that I might have done differently over the past few days, only to conclude that apart from telling Sam about Senator Stewart sooner I can't think of anything else, and that in itself deepens my regrets. I so wanted to be all Sam believed I could be. Honest and open in all aspects of our relationship, but it is clear now that it won't ever happen. I love him, God knows I do, but I know now that he has remembered how badly the man I still can't shake from our lives hurt him, I'll never again be able to show him how much.

My eyes sting painfully as the gravity of all that I will never again be permitted to do sinks in, permeating my being to the very depths of my soul. I'll be lucky if Sam ever speaks to me again let alone be allowed to touch him, hold him as I had last night. The memories of which make the whole ordeal too much to bear in silence and the seething emotions I have managed to so far keep at bay finally overwhelm me. I make no attempts to try and stop the tears that well in my eyes, eventually filling them, or the low sounds that break more like moans of pain than sobs from my chest. 

I don't usually cry, not that I think it's unmanly or anything like that, it's just I guess I've learnt over the years that it doesn't help. 'Crying won't solve your problems and it certainly can't change things.' I remember being told as a child growing up under the caring yet strict guidance of the nuns at the orphanage. And mostly the advice I had been given had been correct; tears or tantrums don't help. Now however, if only I could release a small portion of what I was feeling, then maybe I could go on, face my life without Sam.

I let it happen and simply let the tears fall, feeling their slow and steady slide down my cheeks and the occasional salt-taste of them as the occasional one or two reach my lips. Relishing in the ability to do so and praying that somehow my pain, raw and burning as it slowly escapes me, will lessen Sam's.

Exactly how long I had been sitting there before the light, but insistent knocking at my door finally draws my attention is a mystery to me. Consequently, taking me by surprise even though it is not unexpected. The timely interruption thus breaking my miserable line of thought and halting my tears as if by magic. Reaching automatically into my trouser pocket as I stand up to answer the door I pull out a clean handkerchief to wipe my face with.

I hope it's Verbena, but I can't be too careful. "I'll be right with you, just give me a minute." I call out; raising my voice a little and hoping it sounds steady.

Switching on the light I shove the now damp handkerchief back into my pocket and check my appearance in the mirror by the door. Jesus, I tell my reflection, you look like shit Calavicci. And I do, fuck, my eyes are all puffy and my hair looks like it hasn't been combed in a week. Quickly, I run my fingers through my hair again, this time attempting to straighten it and then refasten my neck pin so I at least look somewhat presentable before I open the door. Not sure if I am relieved or not to find that my visitor is in fact the woman I have been waiting for.

Verbena greets me with a very uncharacteristic glare. Her usually serene demeanour marred noticeably by the creases furrowing her brow and the tight line of her lips. "Are you okay?" She inquires even before I have an opportunity to invite her inside, which is what I want to do of course. I sure as hell don't want to be seen by any of the others at the moment or to have to explain why I look the way I do.

"As well as can be expected, Verbena. Come in, please." I say, taking her gently by the arm and checking up and down the corridor quickly before I draw her inward.

With the door sealed behind us I don't wait for her to make any comment on my appearance, which judging by the way that she is looking at me, she is about to.

"How's Sam?" I ask her, searching her face for any signs on what she might know about my lover, ex-lover my inner voice echoes. Reminding me that in a matter of a few brief hours I have lost all rights as Sam's partner and that she simply may have come to inform me she can't tell me anything at all about him.

The seconds pass as we stand regarding each other, my anxiety mounting. Verbena doesn't say anything and is still looking at me in a manner that I rather she didn't. It's not helping how I'm feeling right now, I already know I look like shit and I certainly don't need it pointed out to me.

"Tell me, Verbena. Is Sam okay?"

"Sit down Al."

"No," I snap, feeling far too old and wound up to be told what to do. "You sit down if you want, but I prefer to stand." I tell her, folding my arms across my chest and locking my knees to stop them from buckling from under me, holding my ground.

Verbena appears somewhat surprised by my reaction, which I immediately pick up on; it's hard not too under the circumstances. It's definitely out of the ordinary for her to react to anything I might say or do, especially if you consider how long we're been sparing as both friends and colleagues. I don't like it, I know from experience that it takes an awful lot to rattle Verbena and the idea that something has. Something about Sam, I realise an instant later, forcing a double take of my behaviour so fast that it shocks even me. I drop my arms to my sides knowing it's not a good move to piss Verbena off. She's a tough bird is our Doctor Beeks, not the sort of woman you want to be on the wrong side of. And now, I remind myself is definitely not the time to start. If I want answers, which I do, I should just shut up; I tell myself, sit down if necessary and just listen to what she has to say.

"Okay, I'll sit." I tell to her, dropping the tone of my voice along with all of the other bullshit I know I'm probably exuding at the moment. It won't help I tell myself, not me or Sam. She has to tell me about him, I may not be Sam's partner per se but I'm still the damn administrator of the Project and that alone affords me certain rights.

I back away then, keeping an eye on Verbena as I move and sit down in my favourite chair, positioning both my hands on each arm for support. "Now are you going to tell me about Sam. Or do I have to go up there and find out for myself?" I ask. Watching anxiously as she then crosses the room and sits opposite me, drawing her cardigan around herself as she perches on the matching sofa.

"He's not here Al." She informs me, her voice eerily flat as she holds my regard.

No, I think, gripping the sofa's arms tightly so I don't just fly out the door and start looking for him.

"What do you mean? Where is he? Verbena tell me, please?" I fire at her, knowing my own voice is rising again even though I am trying desperately to maintain a reasonable perspective. But it's no use; the fear slowly knotting inside my gut won't seem to allow me time enough to keep it for very long.

"Sam left, Al. He said he needed to get away from...here.

"From me." I interject, knowing I'm right and that I'm the reason Sam has gone God only knows where. I do however receive a small nod of clarification from Verbena before she continues.

"I spoke to Sam after you left, I tried to talk him out of it Al, but he wouldn't hear of it. He's completely shut down as far as talking about the memories, and because of the nature of them I'd rather not press him on that until he's ready." Verbena pauses then, considering whether to tell me something else, I decide as she drops her steady regard, momentarily glancing away as she lifts one slim hand to smooth the area between her eyes. "You were right, Al." She adds solemnly, looking over at me again, her hand dropping listlessly to her side once more. "He does remember being with Tran and the rapes."

 _Jesus_ was there ever any doubt, I think. God damn it all. "Of course he remembers Verbena. For Christ sake tell me something I don't know, like where is he now?"

Cold silence answers my comment and then, just when I think I have gone too far with her and Verbena is just going to put me in my place I receive a flat "He mentioned the house." And then a very disheartened. "Other than that Al, there isn't a lot I can tell you." 

That Sam has chosen the house he has bought as a refuge doesn't surprise me at all, though I don't like the idea very much. Sam and I planned on going out to there today and he's probably thinking a little distance is a good idea at the moment. The house is kinda cut off though; it has power and all but its set well back from the main road and for reasons I can't quite fathom it seems to be the last place I think that could give him any solace.

Verbena is quiet now, appearing and from what little conversation we have shared, discouraged, I think. And given the circumstances understandably so, but it is not at all like the woman I know to let it show. Like her previous reactions it has me curious, providing me with enough of a distraction from my own turmoil to concentrate on what is going on right in front of me.

"Are you okay, Verbena?" I ask her, purposely calming myself again. Her unusual behaviour reminding me that she may be a wonderful shrink, supportive in ways I never knew existed but she is also very human.

"Yes Al. I'll be fine." She returns immediately, apparently surprised by my inquiry. Offering me one of her gentle smiles when she pauses once again, but it's a little weary and a little too forced, I think as I studying her more closely.

"I have people I can talk to." She adds, seemingly anticipating my next most obvious question. Explaining quite a bit without saying very much, I realise. Making me wonder with everything else that has been going on what I have missed or probably ignored, now I come to think about it, because I couldn't deal with it.

"Good." I say, not sure if I should pry or not. Dropping my gaze a little, when I decide it's best if I don't.

It's strange to think about Verbena perhaps needing a similar support to what she offers everyone else, but I guess that's what she's telling me. Posing me with several questions in regards to what she might have gone through when she was trying to help Sam. It's not been an easy alliance between us, Verbena and I. It is something I have pondered from time to time as I do now. Embarrassing and confronting in ways I never imagined. But we have I think, glancing up once more to see her still sitting quietly, her arms encased in the sleeves of her brightly coloured cardigan, hugging herself it seems, formed a friendship that gives me a greater insight to her as an individual. She is, of all the women I have met over my many years, the most genuine and caring; and one I'm quite certain who feels more about what she hears than she ever lets on.

I feel decidedly uncomfortable by the realisation that none of us are holding up really well with this current dilemma. And frankly even though I'd like to be able to more supportive of Verbena I don't know how much help I would be to her or anyone else at the moment.

Releasing my grip on the arm of the sofa and running one rough hand over my weary face, finding that even though the day is only a few hours old that I feel utterly exhausted by what has already transpired. And then sparing another glance over at Verbena, I realise she appears much the same way.

"Can I get you something? I don't have any tea, but I might be able to rustle up some coffee." I offer her, resorting to the most basic methods of offering comfort that I know when I can't think of anything else.

"No. Thank you Al. I really can't stay very long." She explains, straightening her posture a little. "I just wanted to see how you were. I know these last few days have been very difficult and I can well imagine this morning's episode with Sam wasn't easy for you to deal with. You did the right thing by calling me when you did." She adds.

I appreciate what Verbena is telling me, accepting that she realises this morning was far from easy for me. _Shit_ what an understatement that is, though I don't say so. I also know she's paying me a compliment of sorts, respecting my decision to not to try and handle Sam alone, but it's not very reassuring, even coming from her when Sam's taken off and I'm here alone, wondering what the hell is going to happen next.

"He was still pretty angry with me when he left, wasn't he Bena?" I chance, hoping for a miracle of some kind that she'll tell different.

"He's grieving Al. For Sam the emotional pain of the attack is foremost in his mind and he's trying to rationalize not only what was done to him, but also what has been happening in his relationship with you. It's a lot to deal with. Anger, as I know you understand is a part of the grieving process. And something else I also know you understand Al, is that Sam has to reconcile one feeling at a time before he can move on and start to heal. As difficult as it is, we need to give him that time. Be close by, but not try and rush him through any of it."

"I wasn't the one who hurt him." I tell the woman sitting opposite, my friend I remind myself, attempting to push aside my renewed feelings of pain and anger over the situation with Sam as I look away briefly. I don’t want to take what I’m feeling right now out on anyone, especially Verbena, but I am finding it harder and harder the more I think about Sam, gone.

"No you weren't Al. I know that, and in time we can only hope that Sam accepts that also."

I have a terrible feeling of deja vu as I listen to Verbena tell me that the man that I love more than life itself hates my guts and is probably at this very moment holding me responsible for what that bastard Tran did to him. Okay, so she's not using those exact words, but it all equates to the same thing. _Fuck_ , I think, looking away again, unable to face her, wondering, as do often, what she must think of me as more tears sting my eyes.

"Sam doesn't hate you, Al."

Glancing back, I'm a little surprised when I realise I have actually said aloud at least part of what I was thinking. "No?" I snap, unable to stop myself, the pain of losing Sam welling up inside me once more, refusing to be contained.

"It sure as hell feels that way. He couldn't even come out and tell me for himself that he didn't want me around. So you tell me Verbena, what am I supposed to think?" I finish, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

Verbena doesn't answer me and it's not long before I regret speaking to her as I have. I know this isn't easy for her. She is quiet once more, contemplating something. Sam and I, I decide on this occasion, and how both of us have, because our friendship with her forced her into the middle of our problems.

"I'm sorry." I offer, glancing away again, checking out the general state of my quarters. Realising as I carefully avoid looking everywhere but at my quiet companion that the few belongings I had gathered from Sam's have fallen off the side table where I had placed them and now lay in an untidy pile on the carpet. Deciding as I deliberately ignore the disorder around me and chance a look in Verbena's direction, that dry cleaning is the very least of my concerns.

"It’s okay Al." She is reassuring when she catches my eyes. "I understand that both you and Sam are under a great deal of strain at the moment," and then offers, "hopefully when Sam has had the time away he needs he will come back and you two talk about your relationship then."

Verbena sounds sympathetic as always, but not overly optimistic and I really can't blame her for not wanting to get any more involved with that particular aspect of her relationship with either Sam or myself for the time being. She has certainly seen us both at our lowest over the past couple of days and I can imagine coupled with this new development she needs to concentrate on one issue at a time. It has to be Sam of course, and I know it.

"Can you tell me what he said after I left Verbena? I heard some of what he was saying when you were both in bedroom and despite what might possibly change in the future I've got a pretty fair idea what he thinks of me at the moment, but did he say anything else, did he mention any of the other leaps?"

"No, he didn't Al. He's very confused and the memories of the rapes are, as I said, foremost in Sam's mind at the moment. I have no doubt that he does remember the other leaps but we didn't have an opportunity to discuss any of them."

I guess I don't find the fact that Sam didn't talk about any of the other leaps much of a revelation. Of the few things he had actually said to me this morning they had all revolved around Tran and me, how I had wronged him, I recalled. And then truly wishing I hadn't a moment later as I try to push the painful images of Sam on the floor of shower earlier today from my mind.

"Anything...else, Verbena?" I struggle to ask as I look down now at my hands lying in my lap. Aware that my voice is breaking under the effort to shake of the lingering visions of Sam tear streaked face. 

"Not a great deal, Al. Mostly Sam just said he needed to get away. That he had to think about everything that had happened."

I ponder what Verbena has told me, thinking as we sit together quietly for a few minutes that I can understand that Sam would want some time to himself right now. But still wondering if his going out to the house is the best place for him, trying as I do to separate what was going on with us from the equation. It wasn't easy though, I love him and no matter what he thought of me, my feelings for him were not going to change. I wanted to be able to help Sam. But that wasn't going to happen, I reminded myself, Sam wouldn't let me help him now if I was last person left on earth and I knew I had to somehow try and make myself accept that. I had heard some of what he was saying through the closed bedroom door, and the words, coming back to me now, stung a new. ' _Away_ ,' he'd told Verbena, ' _from everything he's touched_.' _Jesus_ , I think, leaning forward and burying my face in my hands again. The last few days have been one gigantic fuck up after another. But Sam's now remembering the last time he leaped into me takes the whole damn fucking cake. 

My gut hurts and I feel sick to my stomach again. _Christ_ , the fact that I've hardly had anything to eat in the last twenty-four hours has probably got something to do with it, but I very much doubt it's the only reason I feel as do. Verbena, would most likely tell me I am grieving too and she'd be right I guess, remembering what it had been like in the past, specifically the physical side effect to loss. Something, that I truly wish I knew less about, I think absently, as I simply remove my hands from my face, positioning them once more on each arm of my chair, trying to breathe through the pain inside me.

Even though Verbena isn't saying anything I do feel comforted by her presence. Just having her with me lets me know I'm not alone. But I want the same for Sam; want to be able to comfort him. I don't want him out at the house all by himself. _Oh God_ , why, my conscience demands, why now?

Gradually my gut untwists and the nausea recedes enough for me to sit back again. Verbena is still watching me quietly, observing me, giving the term observer a whole new meaning when I think about how different it was for me when Sam was leaping. "Do you have any idea what brought the memories back?" I ask her. "Why after all these months they just returned now?" I specify. I hadn't thought much about it since this morning, but it has just occurred to me that maybe Verbena was able to find out what brought on Sam's sudden recall.

She appears thoughtful, which from experience tells me she knows something, or at least has a theory.

"I'm not sure." She finally says. "When I spoke to Sam yesterday I felt he was resolved to whatever you would tell him about yourself. 

"And?"

"His physical relationship with you Al, is very important to him. And after years of only brief unsatisfactory heterosexual encounters I know Sam wanted to do everything possible to satisfy you." Verbena states the last stiffly, a little hesitant to continue, I think.

Her hesitancy could be about her feeling not quite a hundred percent I figure or maybe it's about something else, I'm not sure what though. But whatever it is, it's making me feel very uncomfortable about the direction the conversation is heading.

"I don't understand." I tell her, and then add, explaining what I do. "I know Sam was unsure sometimes, that's why I didn't want to tell him about my…" I stop a moment, glancing away, fumbling for the right words to describe what I needed every now and again. Verbena's patience helping me to finally form the rest of my sentence. "Fetish." I say, hating the word and myself for falling victim to it time and again.

I receive a small nod from Verbena when I look back at her again; approval for managing to articulate something that we both know is difficult for me to do.

"How long were you gone this morning?" She asks.

"Not long, maybe twenty minutes. Half an hour tops. Why?" I tell her, shifting my position slightly, feeling decidedly unsettled now. What was she suggesting?

"You told me you fought last night and then this morning Sam was understandably anxious about what had been said?"

Nodding, I watch her draw her shoulders back a little more, slipping further into shrink mode I realise and slowing convincing myself that whatever she was gonna tell me, I'm sure as hell was not gonna like it.

"Did you sleep together last night?

"Yes." I whisper, closing my eyes briefly, remembering again what last night had been like. The tension between Sam and I and then feeling too tired to even think anymore. I had just lay down beside him and fallen asleep, woken this morning by the damn phone. Jesus, what does she think had happened while I was gone? "Tell me, Verbena." I say, unable to stand the thoughts now forming in my mind. What had Sam done?

"I think." She says seriously. "Because we both know Sam needs to understand one element of a problem before he can move on to solving it. Settling its many facets in his conscience before he truly accepts…"

"Yes, Verbena I know that." I say, cutting her off before she can finish. Wishing she would just get to the point. "What do you think Sam was doing while I was out collecting the mail?" I ask her straight, exasperated.

Verbena pauses before answering me, obviously reluctant to go on, the furrow between eyes deepening again as she breaks eye contact, glancing down at her watch and releasing a tiny yet very uncharacteristic sigh before she speaks. "At this time Al," she begins slowly, firmly, meeting my eyes once more. "What I think is pure supposition. I will need Sam to clarify what actually took place after you left before I start making guesses."

She knows something and she is not going to tell me is all I can think for a moment or two. Gripping the arms of the chair I force myself not to lose my temper, slumping against the back of my chair I sit staring at the woman sitting opposite me, surprised when Verbena gives an equally frustrated glare and then goes on.

"I think Sam was trying to understand what he had seen the other day. When you said he walked in on you in the shower." She says plainly, obviously not happy about telling me; I can see it in her body language and the way she is apparently expecting some kind of challenge to her statement.

But I don't give her one, even though she has made it clear that she is not certain about what Sam might having been doing earlier I know she's probably right. Verbena very rarely makes guesses about anything and even if she were in the habit of it I would be more likely take her guesses over most people’s facts.

" _Fucking hell_ ," I say aloud, sparing Verbena an apologetic glance before I release my grip on the armchair once more and lean forward, covering mouth just in case the bile slowly rising inside me can't be kept down. Sam spent seven long years stepping into the shoes of strangers, emulating their ways when it was necessary for him to adopt the role in had been thrust into.

For long minutes I stay where I am, eyes closed as I concentrate on not embarrassing myself completely by throwing up on the carpet at my feet, listening to the occasional words of gentle encouragement given by Verbena to breathe slowly -- to relax. Shit, if it were that easy I would, I want to say, but I don't. She keeps saying that it was only a theory that Sam may have been experimenting in my absence but I can't help feeling like with everything else that has happened I am the one responsible for Sam remembering how badly Tran had hurt him. Sam was frightened this morning before I left and I know him, he has an overwhelming need sometimes to understand exactly why things and people are the way they are.

There is a warm hand on my shoulder I note as the threat of vomiting finally passes and Verbena's voice, never ceasing her gentle coaxing is pitched even lower than before as I fight against the urge to expel what little there is in my stomach. Opening my eyes, I realise what has happened. So caught up in myself and what I was trying desperately to avoid doing I hadn't heard her get up and come to stand beside me. I am a little taken back by the occurrence, and the woman standing over me removes her hand, stepping away just a little as I struggle to extract my handkerchief from my trouser pocket without standing up. Using it to wipe my mouth with, I find, once finished that I have to get up to return it to my pocket.

"Do you have to go, Bena?" I ask her, face to face now as I shove the balled cloth back into the same pocket from which I'd taken it. 

"Yes, Al. I'm sorry, but I do. I have a number of appointments this afternoon that I need to prepare for." She informs me, pausing before asking me if I'm going to be okay. I nod that am; understanding that she would stay longer if she could. "I want you to call me, or come down and see me later this afternoon." She tells me and then adds, apparently expecting an argument from me. "I can understand that you may not want to Al, but it's important that you and I continue with our sessions as scheduled."

I nod that I will; already working on what excuse I will give her for not doing as she has asked as I straighten my clothing. I can’t talk about Tran. Not when I think about what he did to both Sam and I and how I know Sam is now suffering because of him now. 

"Are you going to check on Sam later today?" I inquire, making a concerted effort to keep my question casual.

"I hadn't planned on it Al. He has made it very clear that he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Why?"

"No reason, Verbena." I lie, badly, judging by the way that she's looking at me. Covering quickly, I settle for the truth. "I'd just feel a helluva lot better if I knew that Sam was okay. He doesn't want me around but I thought if you spoke to him you'd let me know how he was doing." It was a reasonable explanation and I could see by Verbena's changed expression that she agreed.

"It's best…" She says, reaching out to me, gently stroking my shoulder. "… If we give Sam a day or two to himself." Surprising me no end when she then raises her other hand and touches the side of my face, forcing me to meet her eyes. I shrug a little and do as she implores, knowing as I return her gaze that she understood it wasn't easy for me to just stop worrying about Sam. Because we both know that's just not going to happen. Not that I think she is asking me too exactly, just trying to make it clear that until Sam returned of his accord we just had to wait.

I don't say anything to Verbena, simply let her draw me forward after a moment and then into a gentle embrace. Slipping an arm around her waist I let her hold me, leaning my head lightly against her shoulder, I close my eyes and listen to what she has to say. The whispered words of assurance that she offers that time will heal the pain inside of me, make it bearable. If only that were true I think, if only I could be certain that Sam would one day forgive me then maybe my life would be worth living. But the arms around me, the ones I know are only trying to offer me a brief refuge from the pain, are so delicate, so loose around my shoulders, so very feminine, that they only serve to remind me of Sam strength and what I have lost, what I will never have again.

"Sam won't stay away from Ziggy for too long and when he comes back or makes contact I will encourage him to talk about the memories again." She finishes, finally releasing me. She is a little less willing to meet my eyes I think as I watch her draws her cardigan around herself once more. Realising as I watch her making the seemingly unnecessary adjustments to her clothing that the brief intimacy we have shared has possibly pulled us both a little closer than either of us is comfortable right now. I have wondered over the years since we became friends who it was that gave her a shoulder to lean on when the need arose, only to conclude that I couldn't think of anyone other than myself that might fit that role and it saddens me. Reminding me that of all the people that have come and gone over the years, of all the people we helped when Sam was leaping that we are all so alone.

"Trust me." She assures me; apparently recovered enough to raise her eyes and look at me.

I care about Verbena and trust what she is telling me. And I really wish I could feel a little more reassured by what she has said but it's not easy thinking about Sam out there all by himself, thinking God only knows what about everything that's happened to him, and between us.

"Al. It really is for the best." She repeats when I don't answer her right away. "We can't help Sam if he's unwilling to accept what's being offered. It has to be his choice." She is very firm with her last statement and I know by the way she is regarding me that she is aware that I'm not happy about it.

"Okay." Is all I say; it is no way a promise but I get the distinct feeling as soon as I open my mouth that's how it will be interpreted. Verbena obviously thinks Sam should be afforded the time he has requested and I have few other options than to go along with his decision.

\----*----

It's almost midnight by the time I can't stand it any longer. The waiting and inevitable worrying, no matter how often I told myself different over the course of the day, that Sam wasn't okay, that he needed me

Hitting the highway had been an excuse to get some fresh air, an opportunity to blow off the cobwebs. Well, that's what I had told the guy on the gate anyway. But he wasn't here now, I tell myself, checking left, then right before I gently ease my car out on to the main highway. No, there was no one else to try and convince that all I was doing in the middle of the night was taking a leisurely drive into the desert, least of all myself, I think studying the road ahead of me. Because I know exactly where I'm headed and why.

My day, after Verbena had left me and between heaving back up what little I had managed to eat had been spent doing anything and everything I could think of to avoid doing what I am now. Getting in my car and going out to the house to see Sam, to see if he was okay. It's all I really need to know and once I've had a chance to see that for myself I will leave him be I promise myself.

Jesus, I mutter aloud, thinking about how Verbena is going to react when she finds out, and she will find out what I'm doing. But I've given the whole deal my best effort, I know I have. Keeping busy and trying to focus on my work and my possible life without Sam as my lover had certainly worked for a while. My office for incidence has never been as well organized as it is now, and I had, much to my own astonishment, though I guess it proves how desperate I'd gotten taken care of my impending retirement. Sending a reply along with my chosen date for the necessary ceremonies etc., back to the Naval Department in Washington late this afternoon. But even while I had been dictating the letter Sam had worked his way back into my thoughts. His birthday fell only days after one of the suggested dates that I received this morning. I chose it immediately; telling myself it would better if I gave some thought to making my plans for the future alone. Knowing that I had to start somewhere and this would give me a perfect excuse not to be around for the event I had celebrated for so long without him. It had been a first mistake, because once the date had been chosen I couldn't stop thinking about what Sam and I had already discussed in regards to my retirement. What it would mean to us as a couple and how he wanted to make sure that we took full advantage of my freedom. His buying the house had been part of his greater plan for my future and now all I could think about was I would be spending my retirement alone.

My second mistake however, and the one that had finally put the kibosh on me leaving Sam to his own devices for a few days as Verbena had insisted was necessary had been returning to my quarters. Alone and tired I had begged off her invitation to share a meal, showered and lain on my bed. I had figured that if I just closed my eyes, my body's need for rest would simply take over and I would just fall asleep. I needed to sleep, to stop thinking about Sam I told myself, but it hadn't happened. No sooner had I closed my eyes my mind and body had reminded me that there was something missing. Several something's, I realised the more I thought about it.

Sam and I had never actually slept together in my quarters before he leaped or since his return but we had spent plenty of nights in the very beginning of our relationship there. Lying together after I had told him how I felt about him either on the sofa or on my bed, mostly kissing and touching each other. Nothing to extreme mind you, Sam was pretty shaky in those days to go very far. It was all too new for him and I had tried hard not to push him. One night however, we had gotten wound up like a couple of springs just ready to pop and I had talked Sam into going a little further, or at least I had thought I had at the time. I tried to stop the memories of that night but it didn't work, as it hadn't for all the nights since. Blocking out the images of Sam's horrified expression when I suggested we make love had stayed clear in my memory for all the years he was leaping, reminding me, as they did now of how truly afraid he was of having a physical relationship with another man.

It had been what had finally broken my resolve. Because the night after I had made my foolish mistake Sam had stepped into the accelerator and no matter how much I had tried to reason with myself that he hadn't been trying to kill himself that night, the less I'm convinced. The memories of being forced by Tran were painfully fresh in his mind for him not to be thinking about it, thinking about what we were to one another and how he must despise me now.

I had travelled this same road that night I recalled, forcing myself to concentrate on my driving as I eased my foot down a little on the gas pedal. I had been heading in the opposite direction than what I'm going now, racing toward the Project in a vain effort to stop Sam. Gooshie's desperate warning ringing in my ears as I tried to break my own land speed record to get there in time. But I'd been too late and now all I could do was pray as the desert landscape swept past me that I hadn't made the same mistake twice.

Finally, spying the turn off I check for traffic and then follow the less familiar road a few miles more, scanning the road ahead and alongside for the next one, knowing that I can't be far off. Seeing in the distance the shape of the house, its pale veneer stark amongst a sea of stars and only slowing down enough to make the last turn up the driveway.

Drawing up alongside Sam's jeep I'm not overly surprised to find the house in complete darkness. It's late after all, well after midnight now and I can only imagine that Sam has already turned in for the night. I am relieved on one level that he may have in fact managed what I wasn't able to achieve but I also feel deflated by the realisation that if Sam is a sleep then I can't just march up to the front door and wake him up.

Not sure what I should do now I kill the headlights and then after an another moment turn off the initiation of my car, drumming my fingers lightly on the steering wheel as I sit for a few minutes just staring at the darkened house. It looks different at night somehow, but I guess that can be said about most places, I think opening the door and stepping out to light the cigar I have withdrawn from pocket. Trimming and then lighting the Chivello I lean against the hood of the car, taking advantage of the warmth radiating from it in the cool night air and wishing I had dressed a little warmer. Knowing that I actually had little choice in the matter as the majority of my clothing were now hanging in Sam's closets and I hadn't the guts to go there and retrieve any of them.

Looking up at the star filled sky as I smoke my cigar I glance occasionally back at the house, deciding whether I should go a little closer. Maybe check if anything is going inside or just stay where I am.

I don't get to think about my next move for long however as a dim light suddenly appears inside the house and the front door swings open, Sam's unmistakable shape silhouetted in the doorway. Honestly after the last couple of days I didn't think anything could lift my spirits but just the mere sight of him does and like a moth to the proverbial flame I immediately head toward my reluctant lover. Crossing the ground between us I take the last couple of puffs on my cigar before I throw it away, not thinking about how Sam's going to react to me coming out here in the middle of the night or much else. I can see him getting closer to me with every step I take, and that's all I care about.

With the light afforded me he appears as I thought, settled in for the night. Dressed in a pair of boxer's and a T-shirt his hair is standing up all over the place. And as I near the edge of the porch I can just make out his expression. It's weary, much the same as mine I imagine, but dead serious. Crossing his arms protectively against his chest as I climb the single step and cross the remaining distance. He is also shivering from the cold, I realise, or perhaps its anger, or both. Not that I thought Sam wouldn't be still angry with me, only I had hoped he would at least understand we had a lot still left unsaid between us and he'd give me a chance to see that he was okay. He'd know I'd be worried about him; he wouldn't be Sam if he didn't.

"What do you want?" He asks.

"To see you." I answer. I am trying to sound cool calm and collected, but don't I think I've got much hope, I'm as nervous as hell and I can pretty well guarantee that Sam realises that. He doesn't respond to my explanation. He simply turns on his bare feet and goes back inside. The light coming from within growing brighter seconds later.

Hesitating at the threshold I watch Sam alter the dimmer switch by the door, illuminating the living room and dining area to full capacity. He turns slowly, purposely, toward me after he has finished, regarding me in much the same way as he had earlier today. His eyes projecting betrayal and indescribable pain. Pain for which I know I am responsible. I can't look at him for long; it's too difficult, too damning. I look away, scanning the sparse room, taking in the open sleeping bag spread out on the floor a few feet away and the laptop computer set up on top of a short stack of boxes piled against the far wall. Good, I think, at least he hasn't cut himself off entirely. The laptop, complete with modem will enable him to remain in contact with Ziggy and the Project for as long as he wants. It's better than no contact at all I decide, satisfied for the time being that Sam hasn't completely isolated himself by coming out here.

Stepping further into the room while I consider what I should say or do next I manage a sweeping glance in his direction.

"You finished?" He asks as our eyes meet once more.

"I’m not sure what you mean Sam?" I inquire; not liking the fact that as I have wandered innocently into the living room he has carefully blocked the only exit. Why I would even notice that has me at a loss, my thoughts on that particular topic interrupted for the time being when Sam answers me, drawing my attention back to the man himself.

"Checking up on me? You don't have the right, Al," he informs me, his voice dripping with disdain.

I don't want a fight. God knows I didn't come all the way out here to fight with the man now slowly approaching me. My long-time friend and for only a short time, my lover, a man I would gladly give my life for if the occasion arose. He is close enough to touch now, though I don't dare reach for him.

Sam's expression has changed drastically since I arrived and as he stops directly in front of me I feel a sudden urge to back up a couple of steps. There is nowhere to go though, the door is behind him and I have the distinct feeling that no matter what I what; Sam has other ideas. 

I stay where I am.

"No." I say, not sure why, just agreeing with him, I guess, trying not to antagonise him further. I had been told to stay away and I hadn't listened, my conscience reminds me. I just figured I would take a look anyway, like it was my place to do so and of all the mistakes I have made, I suddenly realise that coming out here unannounced so soon after he'd made it clear he didn't want to see me was probably the most foolish.

"No," he echoes. "You gave up all rights to me the moment you decided to lie to me about him, Al."

"I'm sorry." I hear myself saying, edging a little to one side so I can work myself back to the open door. The whole scene feels surreal, strange, like I'm watching it on television or something. Sam's not himself that much was bloody obvious. I've already figured Verbena is probably going to have a fit once she finds out that I came out here and although I would prefer that was later rather than sooner I really feel like she needs to know.

"Don't." He is demanding next, halting me in my tracks. "Don't apologise for him." It's a warning, I realise.

"I'm not." I return, feeling as if I need to make myself abundantly clear on that point. "I'm sorry you were hurt," I repeat. "I never wanted that to happen Sam. I love you." 

"That needs to change, to stop…We can't…ever…again." Sam returns, adamant, and then he stops, as if every word has been painful to expel and now he's exhausted or horrified by the reality of what he has said. 

I shake my head sympathetically when he returns my gaze and I catch a fleeting glimpse of recognition. I know the feeling only too well. Denying what your heart tells you. Oh Sam, I think, my heart filling with indescribable regret. I am so sorry my love, because I still can't think of him any other way. Then find I am slowly drawn back to the moment, of the true reality of our lives as I see his expression becoming steadily darker. Watching him closely as beautiful, elegant hands move together to cover his face momentarily, running through tangled hair after a brief pause and then down to cover both of his ears.

Sam is very quiet now, holding my regard though seemingly lost in his own thoughts, his hands clamped over his ears to stop, I'm not sure what, memories or voices perhaps. Reliving I can only imagine what he has remembered today. He doesn't have to, I remind myself. I know that much. Of all the therapy I have endured over the past months I know that forcing yourself to remember the violation is not helpful. Not alone at least, without help from the likes of Verbena or someone equally qualified to guard against what the memories can do to you.

I feel utterly damned -- torn as I have been from the very beginning of our relationship between loving him and simply walking away. Completely responsible as I know I am for every ounce of anguish that I know Sam is feeling now. Damned if I just walk out the door, leaving him alone and damned for all eternity if I don't at least try to help him.

Without further thought or consideration of how I will be received I move to comfort the man who I can only describe as my life. It pains me to admit it but I am nothing without him. I was nothing when he found me and will never again love or be loved by anyone as I love Sam. My heart may well recover given time, but my life, no matter how I prepare for it now won't mean a damn thing if I have to live it without him.

"I can't just stop caring about you, Sam," I offer gently. "I'm sorry he hurt you, sorry I didn't tell you earlier, sorry that I can't make what you’re feeling right now go away. I love you, Sam." I tell him, meaning every word as I try to express my own feelings, only to receive a blank stare in response. I take a chance and reach up, hesitating only a second before I ease his hands down, managing only to touch his cheek briefly before he lashes out, and strikes me without warning. Sam's now balled fist impacting hard to the side of my face. I reel backward under the assault, trying to keep my footing, shocked by the intensity of the single blow, delivered by the last man I would have ever thought I would have to defend myself against physically.

"Sam," I manage. The distinctive taste of blood filling my mouth, absently noting that I have bitten my tongue. Stunned to find that when I reach up to soothe my left cheek, and to wipe my lips that the back of my hand comes away covered in it. I don't believe it, can't believe that Sam has actually struck me. It's not possible is all I can think as I glance away from my blood covered hand and back at him.

His eyes lock with mine the moment I do, but so intense is his gaze, so completely unreadable that I hardly notice the short distance between us is being closed quickly. He is on me again a second later, not speaking, not offering any explanation to why he has done what he has. What I still can't believe he has. My legs are shaking and I stagger a little as I try to keep my balance. Trying to get away from Sam as he takes hold of my shoulders and pushes me hard, using both arms until he has me backed up against the wall that I remember divides the living area from the rest of the house. I swallow the blood in my mouth, knowing I have no other recourse, shaking uncontrollably as I am pulled away from and then shoved up against the wall once, twice more; my head impacting each time with a sickening crack. My head feels like its set to explode it hurts so much. I try to talk to Sam, though very little comes out, only snatched words through stolen breaths for him to stop, to let me go. All of which falls on deaf ears. Nothing is registering, I realise as he releases me for the briefest of moments, his left arm falling heavy against my chest to secure me to the wall, raising then his right, curling long tapered fingers into a cruel fist. I turn my face away, horrified, my head pounding and my legs feeling like they’re just going to give out from under me. Trying to brace myself for what I expect will come next and then flinching when I feel the fleeting brush of Sam fist as it passes me by, coming to a thundering stop, not against my cheek as I had imagined, but the wall just beside my head.

Compensating faster than I would have thought possible for his change in balance while still pinning me to the wall I watch Sam's fist beside me quickly unfold, his fingers briefly touch my face and then feel the temporary relief as his forearm is lifted from my chest. Only to find myself trapped a moment later as it is pressed to my throat, forcing my head back and my eyes to meet his. I struggle for breath, vaguely aware that he is working one of his knees between my legs, forcing my thighs apart.

"No." I gasp, pleading now, bringing my hands up to defend myself for the first time, clawing at the bare flesh on Sam's arm in an effort to stop him from cutting off the flow oxygen to my already labouring lungs. Willing him to stop this before it goes too far, begging him wordlessly as I stare up at him, once more shocked by what I see. His face is mere inches away from mine, menacing and unrelenting in his anger, the pupils of his eyes so large that they eradicate all traces of green, all traces of the gentle soul within. His mouth, slightly open, hovers over mine, our breaths mingling for a moment and then he pulls back. "What's wrong, Al?" He pants in my face, teeth bared. It's nothing short of terrifying to realise that this man, clearly intent on finishing what he has started is Sam. "Isn't this what you wanted?" He whispers.

"No." I plead again; suddenly understanding what Sam is trying to do as his mouth descends on mine. He is trying to prove himself, but to whom? Surely not to me I think, struggling, trying to stop the assault of my senses as he kisses me hard. Biting at my lips and driving his tongue further and further inward, seemingly oblivious to the blood in mouth, forcing me to swallow more of it. I release my grip on his arm when my efforts to stop him prove useless, partly because it only seems to be spurring him on, but mainly because I can't catch my breath long enough to fight him. His mouth and the arm he has pressed to my throat are obstructing my airflow. I don't care for myself, honestly I don't. A few more seconds and everything I have put us through could be over for all time. We'd both be released from the indecision, the anguish of having to deal with the past. I drop my arms to my sides at that thought, giving up. Finding that the moment I do, my mouth is released and the pressure on my throat is relieved marginally, Sam's open hand now replacing his arm. The change in positions is like before, quick. But my body's need for air responds immediately and I suck in the much-needed amount to fill my lungs, gasping for more when Sam leans in again, his ragged breath hot against my face.

"Tell me this isn't what you wanted?" He demands. Pulling away a little, finally releasing my throat and then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I watch, too afraid to move, still trying to catch my breath, as Sam drops his regard to examine his hand, smeared now with a mixture of saliva and my blood. Completely unprepared as he strikes out again, backhanding me across my already abused cheek. The renewed assault stings my eyes, blinding me momentarily and sending hot tendrils of pain through the entire side of my face.

"Jesus. Please Sam. Stop." I beg him, trying to duck away, to cover my head, only to have the lapel of my jacket caught and then tugged from shoulders when my legs fail me.

"Tell me this isn't what you wanted from me all along!" He repeats, pushing me back up against the wall. Immediately replacing his withdrawn knee and using his formative bulk to stop me from moving again. My legs feel like rubber, but I try all the same to support my own weight, anything I think to pull as far away from Sam as possible.

"Was this what you wanted to achieve Al, by not telling me the truth?" He spits. Unadulterated rage radiating from him with each question, none of which I can defend, nor do I think I am meant to. Anger has taken hold and there is no stopping Sam's attempt to release it. I shake my head all the same, my heart pounding so hard in my chest that I think I can hear it. Hear Sam's as he presses up against me.

"Did you think I was so gullible that I wouldn't find out that it was him, Tran you wanted and what he did to you. Letting me think you hated him." This added close to my heated face, Sam's lips feathering across the area he has struck, while his hands work on the buttons of my shirt, tearing what he can't free and then moving quickly to the belt on my trousers. Slapping my hands away as soon as I try to stop him.

"Were you thinking about him every time we were together?" He leers once the task is complete and my belt is released.

"Never." I choke out; managing to at least deny the last of Sam's claims before he takes possession of my mouth again. I cringe away from it, trying desperately to not get caught up in what he is trying to do. Though there no point pretending that my dear gentle Sam is attempting to satisfy me or his curiosity in regards to the darker need I have introduced him to. He means to hurt me, to rape me if I should let it go that far. I can't let it happen, I tell myself, finding it harder and harder to ignore the hand roughly working its way inside of my trousers. Despite what Sam may think of me I won't allow it, won't allow him to become the monster that still haunts both our lives.

I respond with the first thought that comes to mind, recalling the past, all the time wishing, I didn't. Remembering how I had learnt this lesson well, if not too late, how I could soothe the savagery, the brutality forced upon me by becoming a part of it. I kiss Sam back, tenderly, ignoring the ferocity in which he is forcing himself on me now, leaning into his body and settling my weight on the knee between my legs, letting the sensations that course through my body to strengthen my resolve before pushing the need to move against it away. Reaching up, I try to get a hand between us to touch and stoke his face. Hoping that the gentleness I offer will calm some of his anger and somehow manage a few whispered words around his pauses for breath. Hushing him all the while I caress and gently encouraged a slower pace. I am completely hard by the time he finally eases back, Sam beautiful face no longer twisted with fury and rage, showing only the sad innocence of bewilderment as he stares down at me.

It's hard to focus, but I watch, still wary, when he slowly backs away, taking no more than a couple of unsteady steps before he stops and then collapses on the floor as my own legs finally give-out and I slip down the wall behind me.  
TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please." I whisper, not sure what I'm begging for. Forgiveness, a release from the pain and regret welling inside of me, the enormity of which is slowly consuming me, but I already know it is too late for either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for the disclaimer and notes. This is another very long chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

_**Sam** _

I watch Al's less than gracious slide down the wall. Caught it seems as time stills around us and completely transfixed by the image he makes, his legs simply splaying out from under him, his arms falling to his sides, trying, but ultimately failing to slow his decent. His shirt is torn open, scratches marring both his chest and stomach. The outline of his hardened cock is clearly visible through his trousers, rising and falling with each breath he takes. Proof of what I wanted, my mind demands, though I can't quite recall what I was I wanted to prove. 

Al's face, when I finally drag my eyes back up to it, is relaxed despite the abuse it bears, his mouth slightly open, eyes bright, searching mine, evidently finding no satisfaction in them are then cast away. The seemingly paused moment in time shattered the instant he does, jolting me back reality.

 _"Jesus,_ Sam." He curses, cradling the back of his head and rocking forward slightly. His legs folding in front of him as he releases his head, alternately trying to close his trouser and stand up at the same. 

Mirroring Al's movements, I struggle to do the same. My limbs shaking and my heart pounding in my chest as my mind tries desperately to grasp what has just happened between us.

Climbing to my feet I keep my distance as I watch him pause, leaning his weight against the wall behind him to adjust his trouser, carefully avoiding the turgid flesh trapped within as he reaches below it and tugs downward. 

Still shaking, I open mouth to say something to Al. Apologise for what I have forced upon him, remembering his pleas for me to stop, only to find myself unable to form the words. Guilt of which forces me to look away briefly while he continues to settle his clothing into some kind of order. 

He is glaring at me over one shoulder when I look back, waiting I expect, for me speak. I try again. 

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

"No you’re not," he spits back. "Don't pretend you are, you wanted to hurt me and you did, okay, end of story."

The truth and venom in Al's words is almost as shocking to me as the sight of him. I can't offer anything by way of defence for what I've done, what I tried to do to him, and what is perhaps more disturbing is that he seems to know it even before the thought takes complete hold in my own mind. 

_Oh my God._ It's true, I think, speechless as I watch Al push away from the wall and then bend to retrieve his silver jacket from the floor near his feet. I had wanted to hurt him, had truly believed I could take him, force myself on him and by doing so I could prove…what…? I still don't know. I look away again as he pulls the jacket on, trying to comprehend what has occurred and how I could have thought for even a moment that hurting Al was the way to release myself from the pain I felt. Still feel, I think bitterly, glancing up at him.

"Please." I whisper, not sure what I'm begging for. Forgiveness, a release from the pain and regret welling inside of me, the enormity of which is slowly consuming me, but I already know it is too late for either. There is no excuse for what I have done. No matter what I say, there will be no redemption. 

Al doesn't answer me; in fact, I'm not even sure he has heard me. He is still trying to zip his jacket up but his hands are shaking so much that I watch him restart the task a number of times before he actually manages to get the two sides to meet. I want to reach for him, help him but I know I can't. My own hands are shaking too much to be of any assistance and I doubt he would allow me to do so anyway. I glance away on that thought and look down at my own trembling hands. Asking myself as I inspect the damage to the right, sighting and then quickly trying to wipe away the remaining traces of Al's blood still smeared across its surface, how I could possibly have been the one to hurt him when I loved him so much. Only last night I had asked myself the same question as we had discussed the monster that had kept him prisoner. How I could raise a hand to him, no matter what the purpose. I have though; the blood on my hand is an unwelcome reminder of what I have done, what I have become. And I honestly don't understand how we could have come to this point so quickly. 

The blood is dry and no matter how much I rub it won't come off. I wrap my arms around myself, warding off the cold settling in my bones, attempting to keep myself warm and hiding the unwelcome evidence of how I had just treated my lover.

I had promised myself when I left the Project that I would try and make some order out of everything that has happened in the past few days. The memories of the past came like blows from nowhere this morning after a night that I so badly wanted to forget. Filling in the gaps for me of why Al had been so reluctant for me to remember the years I'd been gone. For amongst those I'd helped over the years was the face of the man I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with, not once as I had been lead to believe, but twice. Only a glimpse the last time reflected back at me through my own terrified eyes. And then suddenly, sickeningly so, everything had fallen into place. Al had not told me what Tran had done to me because he never wanted me to find out that after all these years, even after all the abuse we had 'both' suffered, it was still Tran or at best a substitute of him that he wanted and not me. I had fought to see reason in it all, telling myself it wasn't true but it hadn't happened. So caught up in my revulsion of what I had remembered and what Al and I had discussed the previous night I had pushed him away, for good I told myself. I had to; I had no other choice. He had deceived me in a way I could never forgive and even if there came a time when I could, I would never truly be what he wanted.

Still trying to recover from all I had remembered I had spoken to Verbena beforehand, though the only topic of conversation had been my time with Tran. I couldn't think about anything else. I could still feel what it was like to have him near me. His hands touching me, the violation he had bestowed on me. It was all too much and unable to rid myself of any of it I had taken what I saw as my only means to escape it. Putting some much-needed space between myself and the man who was a living reminder to all that I had suffered while I tried to decide what I would do next. 

I had come out here I recalled, shivering from the memories and the draft at my back because it was the first place I could think of, noting as I glance around me that Al has finally managed to zip his jacket up and is stepping around me. 

"I'm out of here." He informs me, giving me a wider than necessary berth. 

"No." I tell him, not sure what I'm going to say or do but knowing that if I don't do something before he leaves then I may never again have a chance to try and make sense of what is happening for either one of us. "You can't, you’re hurt." I say, taking his arm and cutting him off before he reaches the open door. 

"I'm okay." He protests, shaking me off and glaring at me in a manner that clearly says he's not okay. 

Releasing Al, I wrap my arms around myself again. "You can't drive." I tell him and then confess ashamedly, dropping my gaze briefly before meeting his accusing glare full on. "I know your hurt, but I can't let you leave until I'm certain it's okay for you to get behind the wheel of your car." 

I expect an immediate come back from Al. Something along the lines of _'what do you care?_ ' or perhaps, _'it's none of your business.'_ But if he has thought either comment, which I can very well imagine he has, at least in passing, nothing is said aloud. 

Other unspoken words hang between us as I stand waiting for Al to consider what I have said. Endless questions and accusations of _'why'_ and _'how'_ could either one of us behave as we have after all that has been professed to the other. 

I feel bitter, angry beyond my recollections but I relent first, dropping my arms to my sides, remorse over my most recent treatment of Al winning the war of conflicting emotions I still feel toward him. 

"Look." I say, taking a chance that he won't argue the point too much more with me if I give him a reason to stay. "You came all the way out here for a reason. Now obviously you have something to say to me, so why don't you just tell me what it is while I take a look at that thick head of yours." 

"And it's a good thing it's as thick as it is." He answers back without missing a beat, though there is no humour in his tone. Thumbing, I realise at the wall behind him. Altering my focus, I look at the indicated wall and see at once to what Al is referring. "You’re going to have to fill that in before you plaster over it." He assures me. 

Al is right, even from this distance I can see the unmistakable indentation in the wall where I had held him and tried to rape him. I force myself not to think about the fact that I could recall the sounds Al's head had made as I pushed him against the damaged wall. I had heard each sound, and all of his pleas for me to stop, my mind echoes, and I had I realise, made a conscience choice to ignore them all. Not stopping my assault until he had answered my fury and anger with heat and passion that couldn't possibly have been feigned. The reminder of which only deepens the regret I feel, forcing me to look away and back at Al. 

He hasn't moved, hasn't tried to leave and it strikes me then as we stare at one another that despite my remark about his thick-headedness I might have at least persuaded him to stay long enough for me to check him out. Frankly I don't know what I will do if I haven't and he still wants to go. Restraining him is not an option; but then again neither is letting him drive at the moment. Accepting the responsibility for his current condition, as difficult as is, is one thing but I won't have any further injures hanging over my head when I can do something to avoid it. 

"Take a seat." I say after the extended moments spent regarding each other become too much for me bear any longer. The not yet voiced condemnation of both our behaviours weighting heavily in the air between us. 

Waiting until Al nods slowly I then turn away from him and close the front door of the house and go in search of the first aid kit I had unpacked from the car earlier.

Al is sitting on the sleeping bag in the middle of the living room floor when I return with the kit and a pair of gloves I have already removed to put on while I examine him. He looks up when I kneel beside him, laying what I have brought with me on the carpet to my side. But I refuse to meet his eyes as I don the gloves, annoyed, though I can't rightly say why that Al has chosen to sit on what is technically my bed for the time being while I check him over. Too much of a reminder of our relationship I decide once I'm finished, of nights spent in his arms, jokes made in lighter times about the wonders of having doctor as a lover. _'Playing doctor'_ he'd called it, except I was always the novice when we made love. Student to Al's more experienced teacher. 

Ready to proceed I force myself to remain objective, wanting only to make sure that the injuries Al has sustained are treated appropriately and not wanting to be hindered in the process by the emotions inside of me. I love him and I can't seem to convince myself different, no matter how much I would prefer I didn't right now. It would make my decision so much easier, but I have loved Al for the better part of my adult life. The prospect of becoming his lover, as frightening as it was, had been what had seen me through the last few months of leaping and it wasn't easy to put aside all we'd shared. 

Rising up a little on my knees I take Al's face between my hands and tell him to bow his head forward so I can see the area most in question at the moment. I am aware that the plaster walls don't take a lot to damage, but I also realise that the force I'd used could have easily caused more than just a bump or two. The possibility of concussion is what has me concerned more than anything and searching the region carefully I find a protrusion approximately the size of a half-dollar, thankfully not abraded. The skin has not been broken but the possibility of concussion is still there, and I'm still a long way from being assured of that. 

Releasing Al, I take a calming breath and look away, forcing myself to relax while he sits up a little more. I reposition my hands to either side of his face when he appears comfortable, this time instructing him to look directly at me so that I can check his vision. 

"Is that necessary?" he asks, indicating my gloved hands. 

"Yes."

"It's a little late to be worrying about catching anything Sam," he remarks snidely.

"I'm not." I return, wondering as I do why I feel so defensive. Why I feel I have to explain something I know Al already understands. "I’m just taking the necessary precautions against infection." I tell him, tilting his head towards the light to check his eyes, pausing at the required angle briefly and breathing a small sigh of relief when both pupils dilate and then another as they retract when I ease Al's head back to its original position. 

Our eyes meet when I do, the brief exchange bringing the hope I had in regards to staying objective to an abrupt end. "You're not concussed." I say, quickly diverting my focus and my gaze, checking his cheek and the small cut near his mouth so I don't have to see the dark piecing regard of the man I have wilfully abused, receiving only a gruff snort in response to my diagnosis. 

No, I hadn't quite knocked Al senseless but I know at the time I had wanted to. The memories and emotions of those terrifying few minutes forcing me to stop my ministrations for the moment and I suddenly find that I simply can't go on. My hands tremble noticeably as I lower them. Drawing them away from Al, I rest them in my lap as I sit back on my heels, bowing my head.

Other than cleaning and swabbing the area with antiseptic, there is no more that I could do to speed the recovery of the abused skin on Al's face and I will take care of them along with the ones I had seen on his chest and stomach when I can get my breathing under control again. For the moment we just sit, both of us, silence once more filling the gap between us. My mind reeling with the events of the last few days; the memories I had recalled this morning of a past I had forgotten and now wished I could again. I wanted to forget what Tran had done to me, how he'd made me feel when I'd been with him. I needed to, I knew, if I was to ever be able to function normally again.

Shifting a little I close my eyes and force myself to breathe slowly, to relax, my thoughts understandably drifting toward the man sitting only a foot away. I can feel him, his warmth, the emotions that seem to radiate between us, though there is no physical contact between us. Tran had hurt Al also and now after all these months, I knew firsthand how much. I think about that, how Tran had treated him and what that treatment had ultimately forced him to seek out even years after their relationship had ended. Only Al didn't want to forget. The truth of which still gnawed at my reasoning. He wanted Tran, after all these years he still loved him. And I had tried and failed miserably to prove I could replace him, I think, remembering my intentions to rape Al; finding that aspect of what had happened between us the most difficult still to accept. 

"You have every right to be angry with me," I eventually say looking back up at Al. His eyes meeting mine once more, portraying a gentler persona now -- familiar and overtly affectionate, completely unexpected under the circumstances.

"I'm not, Sam," he says.

"You should be. I shouldn't have hit you." I argue, shifting my position a little more, finally pulling my legs out from under me and then crossing them in front, looking away briefly while I do. Al's ability to project such understanding through just a glance and simple words after everything I had tried to do to him, shaking me to my core. "But I couldn't have raped you, Al." I add looking back again, wanting above all else to make that particular element of what had happened between us perfectly clear. 

"Why? Because you didn't get hard?"

Al's questions take me by surprise though I know they shouldn't. I know very well that rape is not conducive to whether or not an erection can be maintained. I shake my head no, glancing down at the first aid kit beside me when I can't think of any way to support my statement. Feeling, as I extract another pair of gloves and half dozen sealed swabs from the kit, that I was wrong to even try to deny I was capable of such a thing. 

Swallowing over the lump in my throat I strip off the gloves I'm still wearing, leaving them inside out to be disposed of later and then set them aside. Al's tenderness had been what had stopped me, I recalled, and nothing else. Not the fact that I hadn't become even minutely aroused by touching him. If he'd remained passive, I don't know, maybe I could have gone through with it and completed the act, found a way. The very real possibility of which sends another wave of remorse through me. Regret for what I have done and something else, something that both confuses and angers me, for what I would never be able to provide Al. It had been absurd, I know now to ever think that I could, but the memory of wanting so badly to please him, won't leave me. It had in fact given me my avenue to lash out when he had arrived tonight. Telling me he loved me, when all I could think about was that he was lying. He didn't love me, he loved what he'd lost, but I could change that, I had decided in a moment of blind rage, no more than a second before I had hit him. I had wanted so badly to prove him wrong and myself right, and I had accomplished neither. If anything I had managed to become, if only briefly, as completely contemptuous as the man who had abused us both.

I can feel Al's eyes on me as I pull on the new set of gloves and then tear open the first swab, watching my every movement, waiting I suspected, for me to say something else. I wanted to; I wanted to ask him if that had been what he had wanted, for me to finish what I had started. But the words refuse to be spoken. It was pointless I decide. I wanted to hold on to my anger, let it dull some of the pain, but simply provoking Al was not the way to go about it. 

Sighing, I shake my head at my stupidity, my reasoning that I could replace one emotion with another so I didn't have to feel it, knowing that my pain was just as valid as my anger and both needed to be felt. I couldn't choose one over the other just because it suited me to do so. 

Looking up again I reach toward Al. "I'm just going to clean your cheek." I explain, once more focusing on the task at hand. Carefully supporting the side of his head with one hand I carefully wipe his cheek with the antiseptic pad held in the other. Absorbing and compensating for each winch of pain as he tries to move away when I sweep the area. All the while hushing him gently and trying to make the whole process as quick and as pain free as possible. 

Al doesn't speak while I work. Openly watching me the whole time he remains quite other than the occasional hiss of discomfort. I wish he wouldn't watch me so closely, but I don't tell him so. I do however wonder as I finish cleaning his cheek and the area around his mouth, dropping my regard again and disposing of the used swab before opening another, what he is thinking. He was angry before, he's not overly good at covering when he is, but that has changed in the last few minutes and I can't help wishing he would just say what he came out here to tell me in the first place and get it over with. 

I take much longer than is necessary to prepare for what I need to do next. Waiting until I know I can't put it off without appearing obvious. My hands are shaking again and even though I know that the marks I'd also seen on Al's chest could be easily taken care of once he returns to the project I want to make certain that it's done right. 

"You'll need to take you jacket off and unbutton your shirt." I inform him next, looking up again and meeting his gaze as I hold the swab at the ready. 

He nods, but doesn't speak and I remain patient as he does as I've asked without question, noting the way he eases each item of clothing from his shoulders and then carefully places them on the carpet beside him. His deliberate movements reminding me that this slow discarding of jacket and tailored shirt had once kept me completely mesmerized simply by how much trust it had taken for him to do so. And at the same time refusing myself the other memories of watching him undress in front of me while I wait for him to finish. 

Most of Al chest is free of scaring, the majority of the physical trauma he suffered as a prison of war is shown on his back and lower torso. Now however, the only obvious injury to his exposed chest are the two large red scratches across the right side and various others lower down, where I'd tried and eventually managed to release the belt on his trousers. I swallow again at the sight of them; my hand hovering over the ones closest to his right nipple, finding them, like the marks I had inflicted on his face, difficult to look at for very long. Asking myself once more as I force myself to move, how I could have thought while I was hurting him that this would prove anything to either one of us.

As expected Al flinches when the cold swab touches his chest. What I don't anticipate is his attempts to halt my movements. Grabbing my hand unexpectedly I react more on instinct than anything else and I try to pull away. 

"Don't." I say, trying to release my hand from Al's, panic setting in. 

"Sorry, but it stings.” He says loosening his grip slightly and I pull free, wrenching my hand away. "You don't want me to touch you, do you Sam?" 

"It's not that," I lie. Shaking my head and looking away. "You can't touch me while I'm examining you. I'll have to take these off now." I say, struggling to get my now racing heart under control and remove the gloves from my hands. 

"I understand that," Al is saying. "I understand what it's like Sam. You don't have to pretend. This bullshit with the gloves is you putting walls up. You don't need them and we both know it."

I shake my head again, continuing to deny the truth. "No, I have to make certain there's no infection." I tell him a second time, still trying to extract the latex gloves from my trembling hands. They won't come off and I end up tearing them both in my frustration, throwing the remains toward the pile of other debris I have accumulated. A torrent of emotion quickly overwhelming me, tears stinging my eyes as I try to stop the onslaught. 

"Crap." He is saying next, reaching for one of the unopened swabs and holding it out to me. "You don't want anyone to touch you right now and that's fine Sam, because I understand what that's like. Wanting to be by yourself and wishing the rest of the world would just leave you out of it. It's all perfectly understandable, but believe me, it will pass. You just have to let yourself accept that it will. What your feeling now will pass in time to. Look I'm sorry I touched you, I should've known better but these bloody things are cold and it stung." He finishes, dropping the swab in my lap when I refuse to take it from him.

Pushing myself away from Al I ignore what he has said and along with his invitation for me to finish taking care of him. I wrap my arms around myself and just try to breathe through the new wave of memories. Closing my eyes, I simply let the few tears I have left to shed fall where they may, forcing myself to just focus on what I can feel and hear around me. The carpet beneath me, my arms wrapped around my body. It’s my only harbor right now, I tell myself over and over that I'm safe, that Tran is dead, he can't hurt me anymore. 

"You said I could talk so I want you to listen to me." Al announces, his slightly raised voice breaching my concentrated effort to settle myself, not pausing long enough for me to say whether I still agree to our arrangement or not before he goes on. "I came out here because I was worried about you. Maybe that was selfish, but I couldn't sleep, couldn't stop thinking about you Sam. I love you and I'm not going to just stop, believe me I've tried and it doesn’t work." 

"No," I answer, opening my eyes. "I don't want to hear it."

"What, that I love you? Sorry Sam, but you are gonna hear it."

"No," I repeat. "I don't…. I…Oh God, I wish I was dead." I say, not sure where the words have come from, but believing them, wanting everything to stop and reaching blindly for anything that might make that possible.

"You don't and don't talk that way. Don't let him win Sam. I mean it, you listen to me. You’re hurting right now, I know. I do, Sam," Al insists. "I know what it feels like and it will get better. But you have to know what you did, not him."

I don't want to hear what Al is saying and I try to get up, to cover my ears, but I can't seem to coordinate myself to do either. Al reaches out to me again; unfolding his legs and rising up on his knees when I try to crawl away -- grabbing a hold of my T-shirt, forcing me to face him and refusing this time to let go when I try to struggle away. "Listen," he says again. "We both made choices that leap, that night Sam. If I could have stopped him from hurting you, don't you think I would have? Jesus Sam, did you think I wanted him to hurt you?"

I can't move, can't get away from Al, certainly I could shake his hand off me, but I can't bring myself to touch him or block out the sound of his voice. "I don't know." I say, knowing deep down that it wasn't the truth, but just wanting him to stop, to let me go.

"Crap. You do know I'd never let anyone hurt you if it were in my power to stop them. You're not thinking clear right now. But believe me, you know it Sam, you just don't want to admit it. What is this, time to make me pay?" He pauses then, staring at me as if he expects me to answer his claim. 

I want to say yes. Yes, it is time for you to tell me the truth, to tell me that you don't love me, but I don't. I just want him to stop and to leave me alone. Engaging him further will only drag out his stay. Silence I realise is my only defence and I use it as best I can. Bracing my hands on the carpet behind me I pull back as far as I can and look away from Al, refusing to answer him. Hoping my lack of response will make him see I don't want him here and he will just give up and go.

"No way, that's just not gonna cut it Sam." He snaps the moment I turn my head. "The silent treatment ain't gonna work, so forget it. This bullshit is gonna stop once and for all. Now listen to me, or I swear Sam…" He adds, emphasizing his point by twisting my shirt around his fist a little more. "…I'll get on the phone to Verbena so fast it will make your head spin." 

Al takes another breath then, his breathing is ragged and I know from experience that he is running out of stream. From what I can see out of the corner of my eye he is trying to use his free hand to reach for his shirt which is still lying beside him on the carpet and I take the opportunity as soon as it presents itself to twist out of his grasp. 

"Don't you move," He warns, his other hand lashing out at me, not connecting but wavering very close to my face all the same. The unexpected retaliation halting me, startling me sufficiently that I hold my position but not enough to make me look back at Al as he continues.

"I want to say this Sam and you have to hear it." This added a little less roughly then any of his other statements though leaving no doubt in my mind that he means every word. "You saved God knows how many lives that night and I don't just mean your own or mine and Marsh's. He's alive Sam, he works at one of those clinic's they have for people suffering from HIV and from what we can find out, he's bloody amazing at what he does. You can't want to die Sam, your alive, we all are."

As much as I don't want to hear or be drawn in by anything Al is saying I do remember him telling me that Jeffery Marsh had lived, and somewhere buried under all that I feel now, I also remember how I'd felt when I had first seen him. Screaming and utterly horrified, watching because he'd no other choice than to do so as the man he had looked up to was raped in his place. I have never seen or felt such absolute despair as I had during that time and I know, recalling the events this morning, what it was to simply want to end everything. 

"I don't want to die," I hear myself finally admit. Knowing Al won't leave if he thinks I might try to do myself some kind of injury and realising as I speak where my earlier words had come from. I am not ready however to let on to Al or anyone else that I had actually thought about it, briefly, during the drive out here. Remembering how I'd thought it would be so easy to just let the jeep drift to the other side of the road. "I just want it to stop, all of it, Al." I add, returning the pleading look in his eyes now, suddenly recalling the fear those thoughts of killing myself had stirred in me. 

"I know, Sam, and it will. You just have to let yourself believe it will, feel what you’re feeling now. Be angry, cry, and shout if it helps, just know that it will get easier to bear. It may never go away, but it will get easier." Al finishes gently. And then seemingly giving me time to absorb what he's said slips his shirt on while he keeps his eyes fixed with mine, only looking away when necessary to find buttonholes for the remaining few buttons left on the ruined garment.

Dressed again Al settles himself a little more comfortably, once more folding his legs in front of him and tentatively touching the back of his head before wrapping his arms around himself. I pull myself upright and sit up also, mirroring his posture but still keeping a little distance between us. Accepting the fact that no matter how much I wished to be alone right now Al wasn't ready to leave just yet and finding myself okay in the realisation. I drop my regard, considering the implications of that thought. Avoiding looking at the man sitting opposite a best as I can, thinking, as we sit quietly that no matter how much I preferred it were different, we both had so much to say to each other, but doing so was harder than I ever remembered. 

Our lives had changed dramatically since I leaped home and we became lovers. I used to think I could say anything to Al, now though it seemed the simplest things were difficult. I wanted to ask him 'why' he didn't tell me what had happened to me. Really tell me, so I'd know I was right to believe what I'd thought about him and Tran. I needed, I thought, to hear him say the actual words so I could finally let go of what we had. Until then we were still bound together and I knew it wouldn't matter how hard we pushed at each other or I tried to push him away a part of me would always wonder.

"Tell me what you're thinking." Al asks me after the minute's stretch on. The silence on this occasion having been more comforting than at any other time since his arrival tonight, that too adding to my growing doubts that I could go through with what I knew I needed to do.

Lifting my eyes, I contemplate telling him the truth. His gaze is gentle and open again and I get as far as opening my mouth before I find myself unable to go through with it. I don't know what it is, I keep telling myself it will help to have him say he doesn't love me, make it possible for me to let go, but I can't do it. I find myself wanting to look away from him again also, but I can't do that either. 

We stare at each other for a moment, Al eyes searching mine, something I had always thought as love shining back at me.

"Tell me," he says again. His simple words and gentle tone finally making it possible for me to ask what I must.

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"How could I Sam?" He replies calmly, apparently no doubt to what I'm referring to and almost as if he has been expecting the question all along. "Would you have told me if I forgotten I'd been raped? What would you have said?"

I shake my head, taken back by Al's response and his lack of explanation. 

"You haven't thought about that have you?" He adds when I don't answer him. Opposed to all the other things I have thought about, it is a fair enough inquiry, I hadn't once asked myself that particular question in regards to Al behaviour, hadn't even thought about it until now.

"No," I say.

"Then ask yourself Sam, and then tell me you don't understand why I didn't tell you what he did to you."

"But you didn't even stay Al. You left me alone with him." I shoot back, my anger over the fact reasserting itself again before I realise it has. 

"I was there every night before and after for months Sam, I didn't need to stay to know what he did. I couldn't stop him and I couldn't stay and watch while he hurt you. Surely you understand that."

"No," I say again. "I was terrified Al and you just disappeared." 

"I didn't Sam. I waited inside the imagining chamber until I knew it was over and then I had Gooshie centre me on you again. I wanted to help you and staying out of the way was the only way I could think of that would."

I remember Al coming back after Tran had finished with me. Talking to me through the night and telling me, for the first time since I'd been leaping, that he loved me. He wasn't really there but it had helped I recalled, the sound of his voice and the image of him thirty years in the future projected back to me so that it appeared as if he was actually sitting there beside me on the floor of the hut. 

"Try and remember Sam," Al is imploring next, urging me, to think and to see reason, but I can't. 

"I do." I return, though I don't think Al realises what I do remember. Exactly how much of what he didn't want me to. Part of which I guess I do understand, though the rest, his feelings for Tran, still leave me open, hurt and incapable of seeing reason despite his efforts to the contrary amidst what I know to be true, but can't seem to make my heart accept. 

"He didn't love you." I tell Al, suddenly wanting to hit out again, to wound him and wanting more than anything else I can think of for him to finally tell me the truth. Remembering, with obscene clarity, the hate I had seen in the Commander's eyes as he had towered over me, forcing me to take him in my mouth.

"No, he didn't." Al whispers back, breathless. Something I almost miss as I find myself caught again in the irrational and unrelenting web of emotions enveloping me. Breaking free just enough to see the affect my words have had on him. He is obviously shocked, wounded by my unkindness, all of which is now showing clearing in his hurt expression. "And I didn't really love him, Sam. It was all a mistake; a cruel trick my mind had played on me a long time ago." He concludes, looking away with the last, finally releasing the hold he has on his upper arms and lowering his hands to rest on each knee, clearly trying to calm himself.

"You honestly believe that Al?" I press, forcing the issue. 

"Yes," he sighs.

"But you'd rather have him, than me. You want what he did to you and not me or what I thought we had together," I add, though I'm no longer sure why.

"No," he breathes again, not quite a whisper this time. The word simply drifting out to settle in the cold air between us before something, I'm not sure what suddenly dawns and he straightens, lifting his eyes once more to glare at me across the short distance separating us. Frightening the hell out of me by the pure intensity of the change and the suddenness in which it has occurred. "Is that what that was all about?" He is demanding a moment later, nodding toward the wall to my left. 

Following Al's line of thought I return the gesture, steeling myself for what I know he will deny next. 

"Jesus Sam, no. I never wanted that."

"Yes." 

"No…" He returns, his voice rising suddenly, accusingly. "…And I won't tell you any different so stop trying to make me. What is it; tell me for Christ sake, Sam, tell me what this is all about?"

I don't answer. I can't seem to form even one rational thought at the moment. Al is still glaring at me, gone are any signs of affection and I feel lost, again, confused by the lack of understanding between us. Wanting to push him away, but the very real prospect that I have already accomplished what I set out to do terrifying me at the same time. 

"Is that what you think? That I love him Sam, and not you?"

Almost, I think, the words I have been waiting for are almost out. "Yes." I answer clearly, pulling my shoulders back a little, readying myself for the final blow. Wanting conformation, but fearing it more than I ever imagined I would. There will be no hope now, I tell myself. Our relationship will be unsalvageable and we will both go our separate ways. 

"Why would you even think that?"

"Because it's true. You don't love me." I finally say, my heart breaking as I do. "That's why you didn't want me to remember, you knew I'd never understand that you loved, still love, someone who'd used me like he did. But I can't be him Al, I can't. I tried but I can't fight a ghost…" I barely get out before Al interrupts me. 

"There's no fight Sam. Don't you understand that? That's what I've been working on all this time with Verbena. He was a cruel manipulating bastard who beat and raped me for months. I let myself think it was something it wasn't just so I could stand it. I don't want him and I don't know how to make you believe that. But if that's what you're thinking, then believe this, I'm going to try."

Al's face has slowly drained of colour as he speaks, his eyes filling with tears, tears that I know he won't let me see. His tormented expression and the sound of his voice clearly proclaiming the battle to hold them back to be a fierce one. I find myself watching him, unable to look away as he literally pours his heart out to me and for the first time since this morning, the end so close, wanting to believe what he is saying, wanting to trust him.

"How…" he demands, his bright eyes pleading with me.” …Can you think such a thing of me? Everything I haven’t told you about myself and the past was because I was so ashamed of what I'd done. God, Sam, I love you. They're not just words, what I feel for you is real and I honestly can't bear to see you hurt. I kept myself alive when I was in Tran's camp because I had to. I had to go home, Beth was waiting for me. You were waiting for me though I didn't even know it then. Don't you think I've thought about that Sam? If only I'd remembered being in the waiting room all those years before, seeing your reflection in the bloody table, remembered that Beth had gone but you were waiting. Should I have fought harder? Should I have let him kill me?" 

I shake my head no, glancing away for a moment, no longer able to explain what I had thought, with all that I am, was the truth. Never before realising the possibility of what Al has told me, shocked that he could have felt so judged by my treatment of him, that he would actually ask me to choose his fate, expect me to tell him he was wrong to save his own life. 

But of all the things I am still uncertain of, I know that Al's decision to stay alive, no matter the costs, was something I did understand. I remember the choices I'd been given that night long ago, the terrifying moments after Al had left me alone with Commander Tran when they had simply unfurled before me. I remember wanting to fight all the time knowing, I couldn't. I chose life over everything he did to me because in the end I knew it was my only option. 

Shaking from the memory, intensely vivid, potently real for the time it takes for me to relive it I glance back at Al. Chilled further by the sight of his badly bruised face, his swollen lips and the love shining in his eyes again.

"Should I?" He repeats.

"No." I manage to say aloud this time.

"I'd never choose even a moment of being with him over having you in my life, Sam. Or risk losing you because I can't change what I am now. Honestly, I would rather die. Please…" He goes on, lifting his hands from his knees, opening and holding them out to me. "… Whatever you're thinking about me loving him, it's not true. I don't want him, only you Sam." He offers, begging me, I realise to give us one last chance as he eases his hands toward me. "Let me show you," he adds. "Please let me hold you just for a moment so you'll know it's true." 

I choke on the last of Al's heartfelt words; finally managing to expel the lump that has lodged in my throat while I have been listening to him. The pain I still feel and the anger that I have held on to purposely to help me through this confrontation, now completely overshadowed by what I see before me, what I'm being offered. Finally understanding the choices, we have both made in the name of friendship and love.

Forcing myself to push away the shame for all I have rendered and endured I lean forward and allow Al to guide me the rest of the way into his arms, taking what I know is being given without regret. Praying as he holds me, that Al of all people, can make me whole again. Can lead us both out of the shadows casts over our lives and back into the light.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not easy to accept that I'm the one responsible for Al's appearance or that I have most likely added to the many lines adorning his face over the years, prematurely aging him with my exploits into the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see chapter one for the disclaimer and notes.

_**Sam** _

Al and I spend the rest of the night on the floor, and for what remained of it, and for all that I hoped would follow, I let him hold me; comfort me in a way only he could. He was, I realised, the only one who truly understood how I felt, what I'd gone through and he loved me regardless of what I had tried to convince myself of. What I had seen briefly as my escape from the pain and revulsion that had gripped me in the wake of my memories of Sun Lee Tran. I could not love, or be loved, I had truly believed, not after all that had been taken from both of us. But even after everything I had tried to do to Al, he had made me see how wrong I had been. With only the very last threads of the bond we'd forged years before holding us together he had reminded me what had been wrought from our lives, together and apart. 

Setting out for the Project once it was light again, the decision is made that I would abandon my jeep and that we would travel back in Al's car. Beginning our return journey just as dawn breaks over the horizon, the new day flooding the landscape before us with sunshine and hope, I pray that somehow we can rebuild our lives together.

Overtired from too little sleep and uncomfortable in the cramped confines of Al's car I find it difficult to settle at first. My long legs tangled amongst what couldn't be made to fit in either the trunk or on the back seat. I shift restlessly for a time as I try to find a position where I can relax and escape the almost blinding rays of sunlight heralding the new dawn. Only accomplishing what seemed like the impossible for the first leg of the journey after I pull down the visor on the passenger side to shield my eyes and lift the first aid kit at my feet onto my lap, nursing it as I alternate my attention between the road ahead and my silent driver.

Al is quiet now, completely absorbed in the task and saying little as he studies the road intently, but like myself he is quite clearly exhausted. He is hunched forward slightly, and as I continue to regard him he flexes and straightens in irregular intervals as if he is trying to work out the stiff muscles in both his back and shoulders. His face is haggard; no better words come to mind to describe it, drawn from lack of sleep, bruised and unshaven. Reminiscent almost of some of the times I had seen him while I'd been leaping, if I omitted the bruising, my conscience adds and I find my eyes shifting on that thought, seemingly of their own accord back to the road. I feel another stab of shame, responsibility, torn between wanting to reach out to Al, perhaps to stroke his tired face, rub his shoulders a little, but finding even though he had held me through the previous night that I still feel closed off somehow -- incapable of returning what he has given me. I know staying with me last night had been his choice, but I can also very well imagine how he must feel. Coupled with the events of the last few days, spending the night on the floor was probably more than anyone could expect from him, least of all someone who had treated him as badly as I had. Neither of us is young enough for such conditions and Al, I remind myself, is even further past his prime than I.

It's not easy to accept that I'm the one responsible for Al's appearance or that I have most likely added to the many lines adorning his face over the years, prematurely aging him with my exploits into the past. The realisation of which only adds to the guilt I feel, gnawing at me and stirring for the umpteenth time the other emotions I feel in regards to how I had behaved last night. But forcing myself to glance back over at him again, noting as I do his fixed expression and the dark shadows under his eyes, only barely visible below his sunglasses I know there is no one else to blame but myself for why he appears as he does. I am certain he hadn't slept at all during the night and I recall, turning away and letting my gaze drift back to the passing scenery, that each time I had moved he had been there, hushing me gently, soothing me until finally, I had fallen asleep in his arms. I close my eyes, remembering the sound of his voice in the dark, promising me peace and then over and over not to leave me when the fear and memories of Tran's violation had seemed most real. He had he complained or showed any signs of actually wanting to leave until this morning and then it was only after I had said I wanted to see Verbena that he had offered to take me back to the Project. I could have driven myself but once the subject had been brought up and settled Al had simply started gathering up what he could and began loading it into his car.

I hadn't told Al about the thoughts I'd had while driving myself out to the house yesterday and even though no more had been said about me wanting to kill myself, I had the distinct impression he knew somehow, what I'd been thinking. I wonder at that, if perhaps there had been a time over the years Al had spent as a POW and more specifically with Tran that he too had thought of ending his own life. I find myself undecided, unsure of the possibility even though I know that he had managed to survive, considering if in fact Al's strength had be born from what he had forced himself suffer. He had told many times since I first learnt of Commander Tran that he had borne his treatment because of his love for Beth, for me, my mind echoes from somewhere deep inside as I feel the car begin to slow. The change in momentum, interrupting my reverie sufficiently for me to open my eyes, realising as I straighten my posture, that we are stopping and the reason why.

My perception of time must be somewhat distorted I decide, surprised that we have already reached the junction that would lead us either to town or back to the Project and I automatically check left then right as Al pauses to do the same. Chancing another glance at him and watching as he then shifts the car back into first and moves us out on to the main highway, wondering, not for the first time about the enduring resilience behind his tired and worn exterior. To have withstood so much and to still find a reason to go on astounds me when only after a day I found myself doubting an end to the feelings that continually churn inside of me. The thoughts and fear that I would never feel completely whole again, that I would be forever running from a man who was long dead, I think as I shift my gaze back to the road ahead of us. Staring aimlessly out of the windscreen as I continue my sombre contemplation. Trying to do what Al has all these years, to live his life in the shadows of what had happened to him and finding myself shuddering at what I know of his survival methods and the thought of what lays ahead of me now. The ordeal of talking about Tran with not just Verbena, but with Al also, of living with the memory of what he did to both of us, I think, dragging my eyes back to the man beside me, truly unsure at this point that I possess even a small amount of his strength.

My heart constricts uncomfortably in my chest and my mouth goes dry at the sight of Al again but I manage somehow to the form the question suddenly needing an answer more so than any of the others I have in regards to our future together. "Will we ever be the same?" I ask him.

The slight twitching of muscles below one of one of Al's eyes is his only reaction for a few moments. Long moments during which time I tighten my hold on the first aid kit on my lap to give me something solid to connect myself with in a world where everything seems very different from what I had believed it to be, only yesterday.

"I don't know." He finally answers; his attention still fixed on the road and the oncoming traffic. One of his hands dropping in the time it takes me to realise the car approaching is flashing its head lights at us. 

I watch the quick exchange as Al returns the other cars signal of raising and then lowering of headlights, determining the driver of the other car is one of the Project's security team heading back toward the Springs after a night shift on the gate.

"I don't think we can go back to things being exactly the same, Sam." He goes on; picking up our conversation once the other car has passed us. Lifting his eyes, I note along with his free hand to adjust the rear view mirror briefly before adding. "But we can…maybe…if you want to…go forward."

"How?" I press. My uncertainty of the future and exactly what part I have played in both our pasts weighing even more heavily on me as we draw closer to the Project.

Al shrugs a little before answering, taking the time to stretch his still free arm before he returns his hand to the steering wheel again. "Talking to Verbena would be a good start, Sam." He says calmly and then less so, glancing at me quickly before directing his focus forward once more. "You still want to don't you?"

"Yes," I say simply. Not letting on that I know I must talk Verbena rather than want tp. "I know that I have to deal with what I've remembered Al…What he did to me." I finish, dropping my gaze and looking away for a moment as I think about the hold Commander Tran had taken on me last night and wondering if I will ever escape the shame of treating Al as I have.

"I'm sorry," I tell him after a considerable pause, the list of what for, growing with the familiar sight of the Project's perimeter fence coming into view and the uneasiness I feel of what awaits us with it.

"Please don't, Sam." Al sighs heavily, shaking his head a little as he releases his grip on the steering wheel once more, deviating his gaze momentarily and reaching out to me, the back of one weather beaten hand briefly skimming the side of my cheek before it is withdrawn again. "It's okay now, I'm okay." He reassures me, and although I don't feel overly confident about Al's physical or my emotional wellbeing at this moment I don't argue with him. No words it seemed would explain my regret, but hopefully there would be time enough to prove what I felt in my heart.

Turning my eyes back to the road as Al does I try not to think too hard on what lies ahead, simply allowing him to drive us the remaining distance in silence, and continuing so as he handles the guard on the gate with his usual nonchalance and the few early risers in the motor pool in much the same manner. I busy myself unloading the car while Al makes arrangements for my jeep to be returned later in the day. No comments are made about his request or appearance, though I feel the weight of what is not said without the need for actual words to confirm what I can guess each is thinking. Knowing as I carefully meet each man's gaze, refusing to buckle under the shame of what I see reflected back at me, that Al's remark that we could not go back to the way things were was a foregone conclusion even before he had said it, and nothing would change that now. There was no way, short of using the accelerator chamber to change any of what I had done, not just to Al but for all the other lives that had touched ours over years also. Travelling back in time to alter the present wasn't an option, shouldn't even have been, and never would be again I decide at that moment. I feel the steadying support of one of Al's hands on my elbow at the same time my decision is made, sealing it unconditionally and restoring some of my quickly depleting strength. Without further explanation he then gently guides me away from the scene of the motor pool and back towards my quarters, leaving the others behind to finish drawing their own conclusions.

I keep my head up as we walk, listening to Al's words of encouragement and trying very hard not to allow myself be overwhelmed by the fear and foreboding welling inside me, forcing myself to place one foot in front of the other as we cross the Project grounds. Knowing that the familiar advice of getting to walk away from any encounter, whether it be with friend of foe, means you win. The first time is always the hardest he tells me, his grip on my arm increasing marginally as he speaks, adding after we have entered the main building and made our way to the door of my quarters, that round one goes to me.

"To us, Sam." Al says quietly as I pause at the threshold. "If that's what you want?"

Honestly, I don't feel like I have won anything at the moment, only the opportunity to perhaps make up for a little of what I have put us both through. "It is," I whisper without hesitation. Very aware that I'm not the only one in need of assurance at this point. That if there ever comes a day when I can somehow right what I have wronged then I wanted Al with me.

\-----*----

Al's and my return the Project is in many ways also a revisit to the days before we became lovers while we slowly manage what I had hoped for. Rebuilding the foundations of our friendship with the added knowledge that we were meant to be more to one another and hopefully would be again.

I pass my nights lying beside him and my days under the watchful eyes of both Al and Verbena, with a more formal visit to her office scheduled into my daily agenda. Al joins me sometimes, sitting quietly mostly, adding when asked, his own thoughts and feelings on what has transpired both in the past and is happening now between us. What effect the past has had on our future is still very much an unknown quantity to Al and I, the ghosts and shadows of which continue to frequent our lives. But what is made clear to me as I listen to him speak is that as long as I am willing to have him in my life we will face it together. It is what I want, have wanted for more years than I ever realised I have come to understand, to share my life with Al and to be all that I am able to him. 

I turn my mind, when I can back to my research and with both Verbena's help and Al's support progress is slowly made on all fronts of my life and work. Al and I spend many hours discussing the Project and my wish to discontinue the tests on the retrieval program and dismantle the accelerator chamber. Unfortunately, there is no getting away from fact that no matter how much we talked about it or how much I wanted to never again tamper with time or travel in it, I couldn't simply discard what had been built.

The Project was my life's work. It was a dream realised, but in many ways it had caused me more nightmares than I cared to count and it was not something, given its cost that could be abandoned or pulled apart on a whim, which is how the committee had received my initial announcement. Not that that was my intention, to abandon the site entirely, I simply needed time, or to be more accurate that is what Al had told them when I had faltered. Stunned into insensibility by their reaction and the realisation that with all my plans to right the wrongs made in time I had systematically trapped Al and myself in the process, and we would never be free of it. Time to reconsider, I had only half heard Al go on to explain, what better use could be made of Ziggy and the facility now that the world faced a more pressing need for cures to its many ills than at any other time in its long history.

The assembled committee members had fallen silent after Al had finished what had been a heartfelt plea on my behalf, my own recriminating thoughts following suit at that point, as I found myself reminded once more of his unwavering faith in me. Our conversation at the time was via a conference call to the capital so what expression each committee member held on their faces was unseen due the distance between us. Together Al and I waited them out and with the aid of one of his hands to steady my own I had regained my composure enough to answer their questions when they had finally been asked, explaining what little I could. By the end of what had been a lengthy and rigorous discussion we were given what we had sought. A reprieve that would last long enough for me to regain what strength I still lacked and a new direction to be chosen for the Project.

Fewer hours however are spent talking about the possibility of what Al had first brought up at the house. Something he says he can't explain exactly nor had he meant that I feel responsible for. Only that if by some odd twist of time or fate he had had some foreknowledge of meeting and loving me, he didn't regret it. Whatever the reasons or the path taken he wouldn't change any of what had happened during his time with Tran, or his life since it if it meant not having me as a part of it. His only regret he tells me is that he didn't face the past sooner, that it came back to haunt those he loved. I know I'm not the only one included in Al's list of lovers, but I find myself feeling the most fortunate.

It had been at the end of one our discussions about how our lives had affected the other, when the night had as it does given way to dawn that Al had slipped his signet ring off his finger and slid it on to one of my own. Telling me at the time that it could mean whatever I wished for as long as I liked, but that while I wore it I would never be alone again. And if I ever needed to be reminded of that then I should simply look at the band of gold on my finger and remember that no matter where we were, no matter the distance between us, he was with me.

To be continued. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. There is more of the 'Dark Shadows over Time' series. Please check back for the other stories. Thank you for reading.

_"And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make"_

-The Beatles-

The house I had bought for Al and I remains empty for almost two months before either of us return to it, and on the occasion mentioned it is only days before we plan to finally move in. Taking from our respective quarters the belongings we want to begin our new lives with and no more; we had no secrets from one another now and what we brought with us reflected that.

Standing on the porch I watch as Al speaks to the men who have delivered the furniture we have chosen together from various catalogues or from online sites we were able to locate on the Internet. Most of what arrives resembles what had been ordered and what doesn't is returned to the van backed up in front of the house.

He appears to have the situation under control I decide, crossing my arms across my chest and absently twisting the ring on my finger as I walk to the edge of the porch to see if I can hear a little more of what is being said.

Commanding both men's attention Al stands before them, one hand on his hip, the other loosely holding the cigar he is smoking and using from time to time during the conversation he is engaged with to indicate which items we are not satisfied with. There aren't many, just the furniture for the guest bedroom mainly and the desk he had specifically chosen for me to use in my study. I sigh, dropping my arms to my sides, assured now that all is well and offering him a small smile when he looks up briefly to see me watching the proceedings. Remaining only long enough then to listen to the men's explanations and their plans to rectify the situation before I turn away, strolling back across the porch and then back into the house.

There is still much to be done before Al and I can expect to be comfortable here and I spend a few minutes wandering from room to room considering the final placement of the many new pieces of furniture and other sundry items as I do.

Returning once more to the living room I note the sound of the van's heavy tailgate being closed along with the engine starting up outside as I move to check the cartons that are stacked near the long dividing wall. Pondering exactly where I should start, I remove the plaster filler Al has purchased to repair the still damaged wall above where I stand, from the top of the stack. Sighing heavily as I hold the small tub in my hands I let my eyes travel to the deep indentation that was made when I had forced Al against it. Recalling the events that had led to the damage being made and my behaviour on the night it had occurred. I close my eyes, reflecting upon the conversation I had had with Verbena on what I should be aware of when I had told her of our impending visit here today and our plans to move in. Forcing myself to breathe through the self-condemnation that has suddenly flooded me while I think about what she had suggested I do to combat such an occurrence. Something, I realise as I try to focus on her advice and let go of self-loathing that coils inside of me that she has pre-empted perfectly. It frightens me, not just my own feelings in regards to what I had done but the changes that had come over me. We have discussed it of course, and even though I understand my own reasoning for why I had tried to rape Al, I find myself still appalled by it. How completely out of control I had become in my pain and anger that I had twisted what he had shared with me into an excuse to hurt him in that way. It wasn't right, and Al had in no way given me permission to assault him when he had told me about his cravings and I had known that, I reflect, opening my eyes again to look upon the remaining evidence of that night. The night I had almost destroyed us both, I recalled sadly, thinking about Al and the fear I had forced on him.

He would not, he'd explained with Verbena as a witness to his statement, tolerate such treatment again. I find myself shaking my head a little at the memory of one of the sessions we had shared with Verbena. _'Never again'_ he said, _'there won't be a next time, Sam'_ he'd warned, rising to his feet in the small space of Verbena's office to emphasize his point. And weather it was because this was the first time in all my recollections that Al had insisted on any limit to our long relationship or the clearness of his tone as he'd spoken I'm not sure. But the necessity of him having to set such a limit had been a startling reminder of how much I'd changed during the years I had been leaping. How, somehow our years together and while I'd been away, our friendship had come full circle and how much I still had to learn about both of us. And there was an 'us', will always be I pray, thinking about how much I love him, and of what he has given me. Thoughts of which despite what we have managed over the past weeks still shame me and plague my dreams whenever I think about the love I had tried to deny myself.

I shake my head again, this time the warning sound of Al crossing the porch breaking my reverie completely. I spare the wall one more glance, wiping my watering eyes with the back of my free hand and taking a deep breath as I turn to greet him. He no longer bears any signs of the attack and I find myself very relieved that the bruising on his cheek has finally faded. He does however look very satisfied with himself I think, as he pauses at the threshold to wipe his feet and fold the piece of paper he is carrying into quarters before slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. It’s the invoice for the furniture I assume. Thankfully giving me another few moments to settle my mind of all that fills it. It's Al of course, and I pull my shoulders back a little trying to emulate his posture, to exude perhaps a little more confidence than I feel right now. Wanting back what I had felt only minutes ago, to be worthy of what he has gifted me with.

"They're promising tomorrow, Sam." He announces, moving toward me. Smiling broadly and glancing down as he draws closer at the tub still held in my hands, I realise, before I can think to set it aside. His pleased expression changing somewhat when we are face to face. More serious eyes meeting mine now, questioning me without actually speaking. Reaching, without breaking eye contact with me to smooth the area between my own, alerting me to the fact that I must be frowning. I try to relax as Al's fingers gently massage my forehead, to consciously decrease the renewed tension I am feeling in regards to how I had treated him, what I had done to 'us'. Convinced, as his hand then travels to trace and cup to my cheek that he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"You need to let go of that." He offers softly, drawing both his warm regard and hand away before reaching downward and carefully extracting the plaster filler from me.

"I will." I whisper releasing my hold on the tub, assuring us both that in time I will do what Al insists I must, and forgive myself. 

"Soon."

"Yes," I promise meeting his eyes once more.

Al seems content for the moment with my answer, such as is, that I would eventually trust his judgment in this. Forgiveness, he has told me repeatedly comes from within and I would need to find a place in my heart to allow myself what I had already afforded him before I truly let go of what I had done. He leans forward after another moment, raising his free hand and using his thumb to lightly smooth my cheek, smiling one of his knowing smiles before he closes the remaining distance and kisses me just as gently. His mouth briefly pressing against mine before he pulls back. "Good." He says, releasing me, bending slightly and then reaching behind me as he returns the small tub still held in his other hand to its original resting-place.

I step aside as Al moves, watching him carefully replace the tub on top of the pile and then move a little further away to inspect the other closed cartons, raising my fingers to touch the moisture left on my lips once his back is turned to me.

This is the first time his lips have touched mine since the night we fought and the effect the gesture has on me surprises me, though I suppose it shouldn't. The fact that we have continued to share a bed has always meant we would one day again be lovers. An arrangement, when it was agreed upon that had suited us both. I couldn't pretend that I haven't needed his presence to comfort and guide me, especially at night when the memories seem more menacing and I know even though Al initially offered to return to his own quarters, he was clearly relived when I asked him to stay with me. He has also continued to touch and kiss me but it is always very brief, chaste, and of late, only on either my cheek or the backs of one of my hands. Sometimes on my hair when he thinks that I am sleeping, I recall, dropping my hand away from my mouth and back down to my side. But he never lingers, I muse watching him a little while longer as he continues his appraisal of the work still waiting for us before I glance away again, never asks for more, my mind reminds me. For my part I still have little interest in anything other than what we share now. Understanding that not only do I find it difficult to put aside my treatment of him for any length of time but there are the other memories to contend with also. Not to mention the medication Verbena has given me to help me sleep is renowned for decreasing the libido. An element we had discussed before she actually prescribed it to me but something that I am now ashamed to admit had been, at least in part, the reason which had given me cause to finally accept it.

There would be time enough once Al and I had settled into our new routine to think about what would become of our physical relationship, I had assured myself. Recalling at the time I thought it was more important that we concentrated on what we had lost and what we could rebuild, given the opportunity. An opportunity I was not willing to let go by even then. But that had been almost eight weeks ago now and I also understood, since I had been the one to instigate our long awaited move into the house that it also meant yet another shift in our relationship.

I feel myself tense slightly and the flesh between my eyes draw together again at the thoughts that tug at my conscience. I am not sure if Al's kiss is meant as prompt of some kind or just a little exuberance on his part over the fact that we are finally moving into the house. Frankly I don't know if I was ready for the intimacy that I know we once enjoyed, but before I can consider what I would do when the subject of making love came up again, Al has turned around to face me, eyeing me curiously. He doesn't say anything straight away but I can see the cogs turning and I know he has probably gathered I am still thinking about how I had hurt him. And in truth he is not far the mark. I can't discuss it now though, we have talked about so many things in the past weeks that I am starting to feel like that's all we do, talk about my feelings when we should be considering his needs also.

The moments stretch as Al continues to regard me. He appears even more worried now, something I had not intended and only adds to the anxiety growing inside of me. Al has been the saving grace to not only our relationship but to my sanity over the last two months and right now the very last thing I want is for him to think that I am having second thoughts about our moving out here. "So," I say, stepping toward him, covering quickly before he can start doubting his ability to assure me and attempting to push away my lingering reservations at the same time. "We'll have the new furniture tomorrow?" I question, forcing a small but hopefully convincing smile.

My smile is not as convincing as I'd like, but Al doesn't comment. Choosing instead to carefully ease me away from the living room wall, eyeing it warily I note, before he leads me back out into the sunshine on the porch without uttering a word.

It's no use I realise once we're outside, I can't hide anything from him lately. It’s not surprising really, considering that even when I was leaping Al always knew when there was something I was keeping from him. Since I've been home his ability to read, what some days feels like my every thought has become increasingly difficult to avoid. I know I should consider myself lucky, reminded once more of the bond between us but I also feel suddenly afraid that he already knows what I'm trying desperately to evade. I wrap my arms protectively around myself as I watch him carefully close the front door of the house and meeting his eyes when he steps toward me.

"You okay, Sam?" He asks gently, his brow knitting together as he eyes me suspiciously. "You look kind of pale."

"It's nothing. I just…" I shake my head then, unable to finish what I was going to say and finding it impossible to keep up the pretence that I am undisturbed by what has just occurred any longer. "I'm sorry." I say, breaking eye contact as I let my gaze drop to un-swept deck at my feet.

"I don't understand. Are you talking about what happened here, because I've told you, it's over? We just need to let go of it."

"It's not just that Al. It's…it's something else." I tell him and then as I drag my eyes back to his, admit the truth. "I'm…afraid." 

Al doesn't ask me what of; he nods slowly, accepting that yes, there is still a great deal in front of both of us. He waits patiently for a moment or two while I try to find the words to express what I'm feeling, and then when it is painfully obvious to both of us that I'm having some difficulty in doing so, he takes me carefully by one of my elbows and guides me to sit on the edge the porch. Stepping off the end of the timber deck before he seats himself beside me, turning his back to the sun slightly to shield us both from the haze.

I can feel the concern radiating from Al as we sit for a few minutes with only the deathly quiet of desert and the occasional sound of traffic from the distant highway to accompany us. Knowing as I struggle with the words and him watching me like a hawk that what I feel is the combination of all that has befallen us over the last many weeks. The pinnacle is of course not just seeing and being reminded yet again of the damage I had brought about the night we fought, but my sudden fear of making love to him again, of hurting him. An issue I still didn't feel able to face and I know as the moments continue to pass that I have to tell him that. It wasn't fair to either of us to pretend that the decisions we had already made in regards to the Project and our move into the house would simply fix everything else between us even though I wished it did. 

"Do you want talk about it?" Al inquires, sensing I believe, as he seems to when I come to a decision of any kind and reaching out to gingerly brush the hair from my eyes.

Nodding that I do, I manage to meet his eyes again. "You kissed me." I say quietly, lifting my fingers to my mouth briefly to indicate where he'd kissed me before I let my hand fall away to my bent knee.

I watch Al follow my movements, his face growing even more serious. "You don't want me to, Sam?" he queries gently.

"No, It's not that." I tell him quickly, needing to assure him that he hasn't done anything wrong and hopefully proving myself a little by reaching out to him and gently taking one of his hands, lacing our fingers together. "I love you and I want to feel the way I used to when we were together, but it's been a long time and we haven't…." I fall short of actually saying the words at that point but I can guess Al knows exactly what I mean because his expression softens somewhat when I pause to gather myself a little more. "It reminded me of what it was like before." I go on. "And it startled me a bit. I haven't thought about it for weeks and I started thinking that we should talk about it, Al. That maybe you wanted to talk about it now that we were moving into the house. That maybe you wanted to…" 

"Make love Sam." He says plainly and I nod, relived that he is able to say it so easily.

One of my greatest fears has been that Al would be hurt by what I needed to tell him. He doesn't appear hurt by what I have said though, just a little bemused I think as I stare down at our joined hands and the ring on my finger, watching as he passes his thumb over its surface before he finally looks back up at me.

"Do you, Al?"

"Yeah, and you’re right, we probably should talk about it. But I don't want you worrying about it or telling me you're okay with something when you not."

I apologize again and Al accepts what I have said in his unusual patient manner, before going on to state his own feelings on the subject.

"I gotta tell you Sam, I don't think we should rush anything. Yeah moving out here means things are going to be a little different while we adjust, but that doesn't mean anything between us has to change."

"But they're going to one day Al and I want them to, but thinking about it makes me feel like I should be doing something more to help that happen."

"But you are Sam," Al interrupts; his tone becoming adamant as he goes on. "Each day, at this very moment you are making it happen." 

I understand Al is trying to reassure me, that he loves me and I appreciate the fact that he is as passionate as he is in the way he goes about showing me, but I don't think he realises that I'm more afraid of myself; of what I now know I'm capable of than of anything else.

He shakes his head.

"Don't you think that getting up this morning and coming out here is part of that to? That everything you do, have been doing for the past two months, is what's gotten us this far?"

"I honestly don't know," I tell him. "Some days it still feels like it's all I can do to just keep going."

"I know Sam, I know it's not easy for you, but each day I see you getting a little stronger. It takes time and we've got that, as much as you need. And believe me, nothing has to change until you want it to, until you’re ready."

"What about you Al? You said you've been thinking about it."

"It's okay." He says, relinquishing his grip on me to scratch his cheek, glancing away for a moment before he re-joins ours hands once more. "It's like I said, you don't need to be worrying about me or us in that way, because I'm okay. I'm happy loving you just the way we are now." Al pauses then, smiling in a way I haven't seen for quite some time. A spark of light in his eyes that seems to take years off his appearance rather than emphasizing the many lines on his face. "Your probably gonna think I'm outta my tree and I know it's not quite the same, but I don't feel like we ever really stopped making love Sam, not in the way that counts anyways."

I don't really understand Al's comment, but the look in his eyes and the small squeeze he gives my hand tells me he means every word, that he does understand and I should trust him.

We sit on the porch for a few more minutes after that, neither of us adding anymore to what has been said. Al's smile eventually fades and he shifts his gaze as it does, casting his dark eyes toward the open desert as I simply try to absorb the ever-changing facets of our relationship. The love and strength he gives me with each look, each brush of his hand. Finally realising as the rising heat of the day forces us both to seek more sheltered conditions inside at least part of what he has meant.

That in the end, when all is said and done and there is only the steadying support of the other to guide you through each day, the love you take is equal to the love you make.

THE END


End file.
